


One Half Myself is Yours

by Ari_Alleyn



Series: Reason and Love [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-13 13:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 72,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4523154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ari_Alleyn/pseuds/Ari_Alleyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Phryne returns from her plane trip to England, Jack finds that he can no longer deny his feelings for her, even to himself. Miss Fisher is a woman who can't be tied down, and while Jack wrestles with the promises that she won't allow him to make, the two of them have to decide if there is such a thing as compromise in love. As it turns out, they are both in for rude romantic awakenings.<br/>Based on the TV Show, set after Season 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** I have so much else going on in my life and am working on so many other stories, that I really did try to resist writing a piece of Miss Fisher's fanfiction.

Unfortunately, after watching the series finale, I couldn't help myself. It was so perfect, and yet somehow so unsatisfying at the same time! Argh!

This story takes place in the universe of the Miss Fisher's television show, which is very different from the bookverse. Worth noting.

* * *

**One Half Myself is Yours**

By Ari Moriarty

_One half of me is yours, the other half yours_  
Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,  
And so all yours.

The Merchant of Venice, Act 3, Scene 2

* * *

**Prologue**

On that sunny, pleasant Tuesday morning it had already been three months since Miss Phryne Fisher had left to escort her father to England. Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was wrestling with his own conflicted feelings, which wasn't pleasant.

According to the latest gossip, Miss Fisher had returned from England the previous night, full of stories of moonlit dances with near-royalty and laden with packages of the newest English popular fashions. With every moment that passed, Jack half expected and half grudgingly hoped that Phryne was going to walk through the door to the police station, smiling as always, to drop some flippant remark about, perhaps, 'journey's end at lover's meetings,' and to sweep Jack off his feet as she always and infuriatingly did.

Of course, what was eating Jack horribly was that Phyrnne hadn't yet stopped by, and that the time now seemed to be crawling as Jack wondered and tried not to let himself worry that maybe she wasn't planning to come at all, or that maybe she'd returned from England with some new, royally appointed gentleman caller who was keeping her more than sufficiently occupied at her residence, far more interesting than stiff and stodgy old Jack Robinson.

_This is a waste of time,_ thought Jack irritably, blowing out a long breath and forcing himself to try and focus a little harder on the paperwork at his desk.  _I've far too much work to do today to get caught up in the romantic machinations of Phryne Fisher. No doubt she's biding her time, waiting until she's made me just crazed enough with jealousy to make an amorous fool of myself. It's exactly the kind of thing she'd do. I refuse to rise to her bait. I'll sit here quietly and go about my business until she deigns to grace us with her presence._

The hours however, continued to wear on, and as the day progressed there was still no sign of Miss Fisher.

_Or, alternatively,_ thought Jack, gritting his teeth and taking a deep breath,  _maybe I'll just go mad. I suppose I've always known that I probably would, someday…and that's just as much Miss Fisher's fault as is everything else._

"Collins," he barked.

From the next room, Senior Constable Hugh Collins appeared.

"Um, yes, Inspector?" Hugh frowned. "Something wrong, sir?"

"No, nothing," muttered Jack, getting up from his seat. "I'm going out for an hour or so; just a quick errand. Won't be long."

Hugh nodded slowly, then gave Jack a hesitant sort of knowing smile.

"Yes sir," he agreed. "You're, ah, going to see Miss Fisher…aren't you, sir?"

For a moment, Jack thought about denying it. Then, he sighed and shrugged.

"It does seem that way," he admitted ungraciously. "Can't imagine why, but I seem to be having a hard time concentrating this morning. Perhaps a cup of Mr. Butler's excellent strong tea will clear my head a bit."

"I'm sure it will, sir." Hugh was nearly grinning, now. "Um…this is the very ecstasy of love," he said unexpectedly, suddenly screwing up his eyes in careful thought and intoning as though he was reading from a book, whose violent property fore does itself, and leads the will to desperate undertakings."

Jack stared. "What?"

"It, ah, comes from your Shakespeare book, sir," mumbled Hugh. "The one you lent me. I think it means…w-well, I think it's about someone who does unexpected things for love, sir…that's all."

Jack raised an eyebrow at him. "Quite so. Seems a somewhat non sequitur bit of poetry to be reciting at this juncture. I'll thank you to remember, Collins that it's Mr. Butler's tea I'm craving from Miss Fisher's house…and nothing else. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly clear, sir," agreed Hugh, clearing his throat. "Ah, in that case, may I come with you? Dot's already at Miss Fisher's you see. She's been there all morning. I, uh, may as well go pick her up, if you wouldn't mind me tagging along."

"Very well then," muttered Jack, grabbing his coat from off the hook and heading towards the door. "Remember, we're making this an extremely brief social visit. There's plenty to do today already, and the day's still young."

"There may be a murder before we get back," suggested Hugh, retrieving his own coat and following Jack out. "After all, sir, that does seem to be a side effect of spending any particular amount of time with Miss Fisher."

"And that's one of the many reasons why we won't be spending any substantial amount of time," retorted Jack. "Come on, let's go."

* * *

When they rang the doorbell at Miss Fisher's house, Mr. Butler opened the door to greet them.

"Ah, Inspector and Senior Constable Collins," he said, putting a very slight little emphasis on the 'Senior' in Hugh's title. "Please, come in. Mrs. Collins will be delighted, I'm sure."

Jack cleared his throat.

"Thank you," he said, stepping inside and allowing Mr. Butler to take his coat. "Is Miss Fisher at home?"

"I shall inquire," returned Mr. Butler. "I presume she is, sir. To you, Inspector, Miss Fisher is usually at home."

While Mr. Butler retreated into the living room to search for Miss Fisher, Jack straightened his tie and belatedly wished he'd made efforts to comb his hair before leaving the station.

"You look fine, sir," murmured Hugh. "Very much the 'dashing man in uniform.'"

Jack raised an eyebrow at Hugh.

"Er, thank you, Constable," he muttered. "Can't say I've ever heard you use that term before."

"It's the sort of thing that Dottie says that women like," clarified Hugh unblushingly. "She says that no woman can resist a good-looking man in uniform. I suppose I'll always have that going for me, won't I? The, uh, uniform part, anyway."

_Collins is awfully giddy this morning,_ thought Jack tolerantly.  _Actually, he's been that way for quite some time, now. I suppose it can't be helped, but I must admit that I'm looking forward to this vaguely saccharine newlywed atmosphere to start wearing off. There is far, far too much love in the air nowadays._

"Jack!" Suddenly, Phryne Fisher emerged from the living room, dressed in some sort of long, body-hugging olive green thing with her eyes shining and her arms held out wide. "What a pleasant surprise! I'd just got through telling Dot that we'd have to make a stop at the police station on our way into town today. I am really so very happy to see you. Things just haven't been the same for me."

"Ah," said Jack, his mouth having suddenly gone dry. "I…y-yes, I…it was rather dull around here without…that is, without your usual spark."

It hadn't been what he'd intended to say at all, but now that he was faced with Miss Fisher, in person and as lovely and glowing as ever, Jack found himself baffled by the myriad thoughts crowding their way into his head. As she approached, he went rigid, and when she leaned in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek in greeting, the contact was electrically, delectably uncomfortable.

"Phrynne," he heard himself murmur, but as he reached for her, she pulled away again, laughing a little under her breath.

"Well, Jack?" She widened her eyes at him. "Did you miss me?"

Jack's brain was now abruptly and alarmingly full of the image of the last time they'd met; of the tantalizingly brief but passion-filled kiss they'd shared before she'd gotten into that plane to leave him without a word for a three-month holiday in a faraway land.

_What was that, really?_ Jack had been asking himself the same question ever since the plane had first taken off, but a fruitless investigation into the heart of an absent woman hadn't yet turned up any meaningful answers.  _Was it just the happy parting of old friends, or…? Good lord, I think I really am going mad. Get a hold of yourself, Robinson. No encounter with a cold-blooded murderer has ever made me feel quite this way, and I refuse to be reduced to idiocy by…no, no, let's be honest with our selves. It's far too late for that._

"I've got drinks waiting for us in the dining room," called Miss Fisher over her shoulder as she turned and swept off the way she came. "Dot's here too, Hugh. She'll be so thrilled that you've joined us. Mr. Butler? It seems that we'll be having two more guests for lunch!"

As Miss Fisher disappeared again, she left Jack feeling strangely awkward and let down. That kiss they'd shared by the side of the plane still lingered persistently in the back of his mind, and he swallowed hard, trying to shake the feelings of stinging disappointment.

_I'm…really not sure what I expected,_ he thought, frowning.  _Surely there wasn't anything TO expect. It's just that…somehow, for whatever reason, I believed that my welcome would be something…well, more. Different than it has been. Perhaps it's my fault, then. Perhaps I should have been more forward. She always did prefer it that way…I think. Maybe I don't really know what she prefers. I have no idea what's really going in that woman's mind. Who ever could?_

"Sir?" Hugh was now watching him uncertainly. "Is everything all right?"

Jack sighed.

_No,_ he thought bitterly,  _everything is not all right. I am a grown man behaving like a lovesick schoolboy. She has that effect on me…on men in general, actually. I suppose I shouldn't be too hard on myself, as I'm really just one of what is no doubt a fleet of besotted admirers._

That thought didn't do anything to improve Jacks' mood, and he and Hugh made their way into the dining room, he reflected bitterly that this little visit of theirs had been even more of a terrible idea than he'd originally supposed.

* * *

**Author's End Note:** So, I've never written for this fandom before. What do we think? Should I continue this little love story? Please do feel free to drop a review or send a PM, I'm very friendly and I don't bite.

Thanks so much for reading the prologue!


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

Later that same day, after her guests had left, Phryne Fisher sat at the kitchen table with Dorothy Collins, sorting through some of the correspondence she'd missed while she was away.

"You know, Dot," remarked Phryne, frowning down at an indecipherable address that even Mr. Bulter hadn't been able to make anything out of, "you're not actually required to keep me company anymore. In the role of Mrs. Collins, I'm sure you have plenty of your own business to attend to."

Dorothy looked down self-consciously at her shoes.

"Well…not really," she admitted. "I mean, Hugh and I have only just moved into our new place, so I suppose there is always the unpacking and the washing, but…"

Phrynne glanced up and gave her a wry sort of smile. "Well, that doesn't sound very exciting, does it?"

"Of course," murmured Dorothy, "if you'd rather I left you alone, Miss, then I'll happily-!"

"Nonsense, Dot!" Phryne waved that away with one dismissive hand. "You know perfectly well that I'd much rather have you here than almost anyone else. It's only that I'm trying to be a very good and understanding former employer…or rather, a friend. I want you to understand that you've no further obligations to me in your new married life."

"Friends," replied Dorothy hesitantly, "do have rather strong obligations to one another…don't they, Miss? It's only that they're obligations of a different kind."

Phryne smiled.

"Well said, Dot." She nodded, and dropped the letter in her hand back onto the pile. "In that case, then, I'd be very much obliged if you'd stop calling me 'Miss.' I believe it's quite time that we began using each other's first names…or at least, that you started using mine."

Dorothy looked frankly alarmed. "Really, Miss? I mean…well…c-certainly, I'll try. That is…Miss Phryne."

"A worthy attempt," replied Phryne. "Never fear, we'll get there in time, I'm sure."

Dorothy smiled apologetically. "Yes, Miss. Oh…oh dear."

Phryne laughed.

"Now, tell me, Dot," she began again, abandoning the correspondence and fixing Dorothy with an unusually serious look. "Are you very happy? It's been some weeks since we've spoken, and when I left you were just beginning your newlywed adventure. Is it everything you'd hoped and dreamed that it would be? Minus the unpacking and all the washing up, of course."

Dorothy's smile only widened, and she nodded enthusiastically.

"It really is, Miss. I've always heard women say that marriage changes a man, and that after the altar he begins to show his…well, his true colors, but Hugh's continued to be the perfect gentleman."

"He's a very good man," murmured Phryne, nodding. "If he wasn't, you'd never have fallen in love with him in the first place. You've got a discerning eye, Dot."

"Thank you, Miss." Dot inclined her head. "He's been so helpful and considerate, always make certain that I'm not overburdening myself with the household chores. He's not much of a handyman, honestly, and I had to call Bert twice while you were gone to help with some of the repairs to the upstairs rooms, but Hugh's an absolute hero when it comes to dealing with household pests. He's very careful to take the mice outside. I don't like to have them killed, poor little things."

"Mice!" Phryne stared. "Good lord, Dot, I hope you at least let him kill the spiders."

"I kill the spiders," retorted Dot. "Being your companion gave me plenty of practice that that."

Phryne laughed. "Fair enough, then."

She returned her attention temporarily to the mail, noting a letter from Aunt Prudence, two from friends in America and one, unexpectedly from Camellia Lin.

"Miss Phryne," said Dorothy suddenly. "May I ask you an incredibly impertinent question?"

"Always," said Phryne absently. "I do so love impertinent questions. What's the matter?"

Dorothy hesitated a moment before replying.

"Well," she began eventually, "it's just that…Hugh and I have been wondering. We really are so very happy, and it seems so wonderful to love and to be loved just the way it might happen in a fairy story that I'd…well, naturally I'd like to see other people happy as well, just like that. I mean…what I'm really trying to ask, Miss, is why you are so sure that you wouldn't be a happy married woman? Why does the idea bother you so very much?"

Phryne raised an eyebrow and looked over at Dorothy.

"The idea of marriage? It doesn't bother me," she said, shaking her head. "After all, I'm perfectly delighted with the fact that you've gotten married. The life of a married woman suits you well. You're all…well, glowing. But you and I, Dot, although we're both quite daring sleuths in our own right, aren't much alike in some other ways. Women like me don't fare very well in the midst of fairy stories. I'm afraid that 'till death do us part' isn't for me. That's all."

"I…I don't understand," murmured Dorothy. "Or, no, perhaps I do. Certainly, the idea of committing your life to one person forever is a daunting one, particular because everything might always possibly go wrong. If he falls in love with another woman, then-!"

"Oh no," insisted Phryne, laughing a little under her breath. "I'm afraid that's not quite it. I've never particularly worried that a potential future husband of mine might fall for another woman. I'm more concerned that I might fall for another man."

Dot sighed.

"I'm quite sure," continued Phryne, "that I'd just get bored after a time. I always do, you know, after a few months or even a few weeks. All the gentlemen in my intimate acquaintance have been lovely and charming in their own way, but the charm does wear off after a while, and then where are you? You're miserable and dull because you can't find anything left to be attracted to, and he's miserable and angry because he can tell that the whole relation has lost its spark. No, I'm afraid that I'm far too much of an adventuress at heart to ever be the marrying kind. I've no interest in breaking hearts or in hurting a gentleman's pride, so I never commit. It would only be a deception, anyway, and those are only fun when there's something to be gained…which there isn't, really, from a failed romance, unless you count the cliché of 'experience.' No, I prefer to be upfront and quite sincere about the fact that my intimacies are delightfully short lived."

"There is, of course, a great deal to be said for honesty," admitted Dorothy charitably.

Phryne only nodded.

"But," Dorothy went on hesitantly, "there is one man whom you haven't ever grown bored of, isn't there? Inspector Robinson is certainly a very…exciting person to spend time with."

Phryne paused, and shot Dorothy a sharp look.

"All right," she said, frowning. "Now be truthful with me, Dot. What exactly is going on here? I know that you and I have always had very different habits in this regard, but it's never particularly bothered you before…or at least, not since the beginning of our acquaintance. Why all the questions, then? Did Hugh put you up to this?"

Dorothy winced.

"Y—yes Miss," she mumbled unhappily "Or…well, no, not precisely. It's not that he 'put me up to it,' really, it's only that he's concerned about you…or, rather, he's concerned about the Inspector."

"Oh." Phryne was surprised. "Concerned about Jack? Now this is interesting. Whatever for?"

"You must know already," insisted Dorothy, biting her lip. "Isn't he…? Well, isn't Inspector Robinson very much in love with you?"

Phryne just smiled a little sadly and shook her head.

"Oh, certainly, he thinks he is," she said quietly. "I've had men think that they're in love with me before…more than a few times. It's never much more than an intense infatuation; it feels like such a strong, desperate, intense emotion in the moment…but it always blows over again in the end, either when they get bored or tired of trying, or when they meet someone better suited. Besides, Jack seems to be prone to attachments, don't you think? Do you remember the way he used to look at that pretty Italian lady, Concetta? And he did marry rather young; a sure sign of a man who attaches himself too easily. No, Jack's the sort of man who would probably fall deeply in love with any woman he fancies. It's probably because he's so serious…too serious. I wouldn't worry too much about him, Dot. He'll be fine….even if he doesn't realize it yet."

Still, even as she thought it, she found herself remembering the way Jack had half-run to meet her just before her plane to England had taken off, the propeller already spinning as he rushed from his car to take her in his arms.

A little shiver ran down her spine as she recalled the feeling of him finally holding her; the intense, serious way he'd looked into her eyes as her father had protested loudly in the background.

 _What did Jack say to me, then?_ Phryne frowned.  _'I had always feared that another man might come and take you away from me…' or something like that._

"You kissed him," Dorothy reminded her. "Or at least, that's what Hugh tells me."

"And how," asked Phryne, raising an eyebrow at Dorothy, "would Hugh know something like that? Has the good Inspector been kissing and telling? Shamefully ungentlemanly behavior, I'm afraid."

"Then," insisted Dot, "you did? It's true?"

"I kiss a lot of men," retorted Phryne. "That's never been a great secret."

"But Inspector Robinson is different." Dot just shook her head. "He's not exactly like the other men, now is he?"

 _You're not wrong,_ thought Phryne.  _I believe it was Inspector Robinson himself who once told me, drunk off his head, mind you, that he'd never be like any of the other men…the 'cavalcade of exotic' sorts of men that comes traipsing in and out of my bedroom was very close to how he put it, I believe._

"No," she said aloud. "I suppose he isn't."

"And," continued Dorothy, "you're a very kind woman, Miss Fisher, and you're a wonderful person. You said yourself that you'd never want to break anyone's heart, and-!"

"If you're going to lecture me, Dot," said Phryne wryly, "then you really must at least call me by my first name."

Dorothy flushed.

"I'm sorry," she managed. "I shouldn't have pried."

Phryne just sighed and shook her head.

"No," she said, "no, please don't be sorry. You're absolutely right, of course. I suppose I have been getting a little bit too...careless with our good Inspector Robinson. An argument can be made, however, for the fact that he is very much a grown man and can no doubt take care of himself. Still, I see your point…or Hugh's point, whichever it is. Jack is a delicate man in many ways. If I was truly the good, kind, wonderful woman that you seem to flatteringly believe I am, I'd really best leave the man alone."

Dorothy leaned her head on her hand and looked up questioningly into Phryne's face.

"But, Miss Phryne," she asked, "is that truly what you want?"

That wasn't a difficult question for Phryne to answer.

 _No,_ she thought,  _it isn't what I want at all. I don't suppose that there's any point in denying that I want Jack…of course I do. What a very funny thing, to know exactly how badly something will end and yet to want it all the same with the very core of my being. Maybe I really am just as much of a terrible femme fatale as Jack likes to pretend I am. Yet, surely it's not as desperate a situation as Dot's being led to believe, is it? Jack and I are two comfortable adults, fully capable of engaging in a little romance without becoming altogether too attached and ridiculous about it...aren't we? We always have been before, or...well, at least I have been._

Phryne winced as she remembered the conversation that she'd had with Jack months before; shortly after Gerty Haynes had been found dead in her car. Jack had barely been able to look at Phryne as he'd told her through gritted teeth that he'd been frantic when he'd thought that it had been Phryne herself who had died in the car...and that subsequently their pleasant little association would have to come to an end.

The look in his eyes when he'd said that had been very much the same look that he'd given her when he'd kissed her by the plane; serious, intense, desirous and somehow lost at the same time.

Phryne swallowed hard.

 _I can't decide,_ she thought,  _if I'm just a little bit appalled at how far we've allowed this to go, or if I'm craving an opportunity to have him look at me that way again. Can't it be both?_

The memory of that look continued to haunt and tantalize Phryne as she finally slid open the letter from Aunt Prudence and distractedly began trying to read through the contents.

"Miss," asked Dorothy, "are you all right? You've suddenly gone very pale."

Phryne only smiled.

"Perfectly all right, Dot," she assured her friend. "Perhaps better than all right. I'm...really, I'm feeling quite marvelous. Shall we find something fun to do, today? Perhaps a little party. After all, I did just arrive home, and there's so much else to celebrate as well..."

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

I particularly love Phryne Fisher because in many ways she's not the traditional romantic heroine (obviously). She' snot a scarlet woman or a villainess who plays with men's hearts for fun, but she's also not a damsel seeking true love and eternal commitment. She's very realistic in that way, and it's going to be interesting and difficult for me to try and make this romance work in a healthy way that really does satisfy both parties. I'm looking forward to the challenge.


	3. Chapter Two

**Author's Note:** Getting all this writing out of my system is doing wonders for me. Nothing like a new story to make me sleep better at night. I'm a terrible insomniac, in general.

Do to some differences of opinion about Chapter One, I went back and edited some of my word choices to make it a little clearer how I think Phryne really feels about the idea that Jack loves her. Please, if you're curious, go ahead and check back on the previous chapter to see the changes!

As always, thanks very much for taking the time to read!

* * *

**Chapter Two**

The next evening, Miss Fisher celebrated her return to the country in the usual way; by throwing a gaudy, over-extravagant gala costume party.

"This seems a little last minute for Miss Fisher, Inspector," remarked Hugh, reading the invitation over Jack's shoulder that had been dropped on the desk at the police station that morning. "Passing out invitations and throwing a party on the very same day? Can't imagine that many people are going to show up."

"If there's one thing that our brief association has taught me, Collins," sighed Jark, "it's never to underestimate the drawing power that Miss Phryne Fisher exerts on local society. Plenty of people will make the time to be there."

Hugh shrugged. "If you say so, sir. At least, I know I'll be there. Dottie's pretty insistent on it. She, uh, says that Miss Fisher's even picked out a costume for me."

"Oh dear." Jack raised an eyebrow at him. "That does sound risky. Good luck, Constable. Mrs. Collins, at least, has very appropriate taste. Let us only hope that she's exerted some of her own influence on Miss Fisher…or else you may find yourself in a rather indecent situation."

Hugh swallowed uncomfortably. "Y-yes, well, I...I mean, I'm sure Dottie has everything under control. Uh, if not, I can still refuse, of course."

 _No you can't,_ thought Jack knowingly.  _Miss Fisher will have her way, in the end. She always does._

"Will you be attending, sir?" Hugh frowned. "I'm sure Miss Fisher will be expecting you. I…that is, Dottie and myself would certainly enjoy the company."

Jack, who did not much care for parties in general, briefly considered turning the offer down.

 _Another huge, noisy gathering of wealthy but morally ambiguous locals,_ he thought resignedly.  _Perhaps it would be better if I did go…after all, as so many of Miss Fisher's little endeavors do, the party may require a police presence._

He did make a valiant attempt to convince himself that his willingness to attend the party really didn't have too much to do with any burning desire to see Phryne again.

 _There are certainly some things that we need to talk about,_ he thought unhappily,  _but I'm afraid that this won't exactly be the best place for a private conversation. I doubt we'll be able to find a moment alone._

"Yes," he said aloud, "I guess I'll go. Why not? What, although I'm a little afraid to ask, Collins, is the theme of this particular costume ball?"

Hugh glanced down at the invitation again.

"It's apparently an 'around the world' party," he read, chewing thoughtfully on his lip. "We're meant to dress like we're…from somewhere 'around the world,' then? Well that probably won't be too hard. Australia's a part of the world, obviously. Couldn't we just come as we are?"

Jack shook his head.

"Doubtful," he said. "I suggest you prepare something to bring with you, in case you don't find Miss Fisher's choice to your liking. Do you have a bedsheet, Collins? I suppose one can't go wrong with a makeshift toga. She's unlikely to argue with that. Classic, true but undeniably international."

Hugh looked horrified. "A toga, sir? I…I have no idea how to tie a toga."

"Don't worry," Jack assured him. "After such a long association with various kinds of costumes parties, I'm sure that your wife will know how to do it."

* * *

Later that evening, Jack discovered just how right he'd been about Miss Fisher's power to compel attention. When he and Hugh walked into the party at around eight o'clock, they found the house already packed full of friendly faces both new and familiar. Most of the guests were decked out in their finest silks and satins, and costume jewelry.

Jack had seriously considered purchasing a costume for the occasion. He'd even entertained the idea of asking a certain lady friend of his if she had any recommendations, but in the end he realized that, whether appropriate dressed or not, he'd really feel far too ridiculous in an 'around the world' themed costume.

Wearing his best, most effectively nondescript suit, therefore and being generally ignored by all the happy revelers, Jack stayed close to Hugh as they made their way through the throng and over to where Dorothy Collins was waiting for them. Dorothy herself was wearing some sort of elaborate brocade sari which managed to bring out her eyes while still carefully hiding and covering all her curves.

Hugh's eyes went wide and his mouth fell open slightly as they approached his wife.

"D-Dottie," he managed. "Um, you look…you look lovely."

Dorothy flushed slightly, clearly delighted.

"Thank you, Hugh. Do you really like it? I wasn't really certain until I put it on, but it's quite nice, actually…not nearly as revealing as some of the, um, other things that Miss Phryne picked out to show me, so I suppose that's all right."

She held out her hands to Hugh, then leaned in and gave him a careful little kiss on the cheek before turning and smiling pleasantly at Jack. "Hello, Inspector. I'm glad you could come. Miss Phryne will be so pleased."

Jack nodded. "Good evening, Mrs. Collins. I don't suppose you happen to know where Miss Fisher is at this moment?"

Dorothy frowned. "No, I'm afraid not. We just had a lot of guests arrive all at once; it's been very busy from the past few minutes. I'm sure she'll want to say hello, so if you'll just wait here I can go and try to find her."

Jack, however, had already spotted Phryne in the crowd.

"No need," he sighed, gritting his teeth. "I seem to have found her."

Hugh and Dorothy both followed Jack's gaze, and Dorothy sucked in sharp breath.

"Y-yes," she managed, her smile fading a bit. "Yes, well…there she is."

Phryne Fisher, dressed in a long, silky violet sort of bell-sleeved Renaissance-garment that hung off of her shoulders and trailed down past her ankles, was in the center of the floor in the midst of a throng, dancing along to the radio with several other chattering party guests. A muscular, red-headed man wearing nothing but an imitation Scottish kilt was clasping Phryne tightly in his arms, and Phryne h ad her head thrown back and was laughing at something he'd just whispered in her ear as they swayed in time to the music.

"It looks like she's too busy to say hello, at the moment," muttered Jack, turning away.

Jack felt a cold, hard weight beginning to form in his chest, and he suddenly and quite aggressively wanted to be anywhere but in this noisy room full of the sound of Phryne's ringing laughter.

"S-sir," began Hugh, but Jack just shook his head.

"You go on and get changed, Constable," Jack suggested. "I'm going in search of a drink."

With that, he started off towards the drawing room, where he hoped to find at least a quiet corner to sit in and perhaps a glass, or maybe several glasses of champagne.

Luckily for Jack, the drawing room was empty, as most of the guests seemed to be occupied with dancing or with gossiping at each other in the parlor.

Taking a deep breath, Jack sank down into a chair and took a champagne glass from the mantle, downing it in one swig, then glancing at it and depositing it on the table in front of him before selecting another.

 _Well,_ he thought with bitter amusement,  _this feels familiar, doesn't it? What is it that they say about a man who repeats the same actions over and over again, expecting a different result every time? And who was it that said that 'there is always some madness in love?'_

"Jack?"

Jack looked up sharply to see Phryne making her way into the room.

"Oh, good," she said, smiling at him. "I thought it was you that I saw sneaking out of the party. What are you hiding yourself away in here, for? Not feeling social this evening? If you wanted a drink, all you had to do was ask."

Jack cleared his throat and fixed his attention on the wall just behind Phryne's head, doing his best not to meet her eyes.

"I didn't want to impose," he muttered. "You seemed to be engaged."

For a moment, Phryne looked confused. Then she shook her head and laughed under her breath.

"Miles is only a friend," she informed him. "An old friend who haven't seen in a long time…that's all."

Jack presumed that "Miles" must have been the red-headed gentlemen in the kilt, although frankly he couldn't be sure. For all Jack knew, there might have been several other gentlemen in various degrees of dress and undress competing for Phryne's attentions earlier in the evening.

"Just a friend," he said quietly, nodding slowly to himself.

"That's right," agreed Phryne.

"I see." Placing his second glass carefully down on the counter, Jack took a deep breath. "In that case, if I may be so bold as to ask...what am I? Am I 'just an old friend?'"

Phryne's mouth fell open slightly in surprise.

"Well," she began, little less confidently than usual, "No, you're…well, you're certainly not old, Jack."

"Nevermind," mumbled Jack hastily, rubbing wearily at a throbbing spot on his right temple. "Don't tell me after all. It wasn't a fair question, and I doubt I really want to know the answer."

"Oh Jack," murmured Phryne, shaking her head. "I've only been back two days. Are we really going to do this now?"

"No," sighed Jack. "No, cof course we're not. I apologize. Tell me; did you enjoy your trip? Have you enchanted your way into the royal line of succession, yet?"

Phryne rolled her eyes at him.

"I had a lovely time," she told him, "and no, I've yet to be declared princess consort, if that's what you're worried about. As a matter of fact, I spent the majority of the vacation with my mother. It's been some years since I've seen her…we had a lot of catching up to do."

Jack nodded.

"Your mother," he asked, "is well, then?"

Phryne smiled. "Yes," she replied. "Even better now that Father's back and that we've cleared up the little mystery of where his money's been going. They're at least an essentially happy couple again…more or less."

Jack gave a curt little smile back. "That's good to hear."

"Mother was very disappointed," Phryne went on conversationally, "that she didn't have a chance to meet you. Of course I spoke about you a great deal, and the Baron and I were both half expecting you to walk through the door at any moment."

"What? Why would I do that?" Jack stared.

"Because," insisted Phryne, "I had thought…well, no, maybe I had only hoped that you might come after me. I did ask you to, if you'll remember."

She moved a step closer to him, still smiling, and Jack swallowed, finding that he couldn't bring himself to move away.

"I remember," he muttered. "However, I'm afraid the responsibilities of the Victoria Police Department prohibit me from taking too many vacations. Besides…I'm not a fool, Phryne. You'd never be able to respect any man who came chasing after you like a lovesick puppy, and far be it from me, in any case, to impose on your freedom to travel where you please, unhindered by the attentions of 'old friends.'"

Phryne laughed. "Well said, Jack!"

Jack inclined his head. "I try."

"Anyway," Phryne went on a bit more quietly, "at least you're here now."

"Yes," he murmured, his mouth going dry as she closed the distance between them. "I'm here now."

Before Jack could stop her, Phryne took him by the shoulders, leaned in and kissed him gently on the mouth. Startled by the contact, Jack froze on the spot, going rigid at her touch. Eventually Phryne pulled away again, frowning in some disappointment.

"Oh dear," she murmured. "Did I misread the signs?"

Still slightly stunned, Jack coughed to cover his confusion. "What?"

"Was it," clarified Phryne," the wrong time for a romantic overture? I thought you were giving me a hint."

"I…n-not the wrong time, exactly," muttered Jack, doing his best to regain his ruffled composure. "It was just…unexpected."

Phryne shrugged.

"I can't imagine why," she told him. "It is my turn, isn't it? If I remember correctly, Jack, the last time we did this, you were the one who kissed me…or have you forgotten that delectable little romantic moment we spent together before I took off for England with Father?"

"Not for a moment," said Jack seriously, trying to ignore the almost painful way that his heart was suddenly pounding in his chest. "It is constantly on my mind."

Phryne only smiled. "Oh good. I'm glad I'm not the only one. I've been daydreaming about it ever since. It was really horrible of you to tease me like that just before letting me leave you behind."

"That may have been the point," replied Jack. "I was terrified that you'd decide never to come back…and I wanted to give you a reason not to stay away forever."

Phryne wrapped her arms around his neck and looked expectantly up into his eyes.

"I'm suddenly having second thoughts," she said without batting an eyelash. "After all, I do so enjoy traveling so much. You may have to give me another reason to stay."

"With pleasure," said Jack quietly. Quickly, before he'd had a chance to overthink the gesture, he took Phryne in his arms, gathered her close to him and kissed her passionately, tightening his hands around her waist as she melted eagerly into the kiss. She murmured something unintelligible against his lips, lingering in his arms for a long, delectable moment before pulling away again, leaving Jack slightly breathless and hot, with his head now spinning in time with his beating heart.

"You make a compelling argument, Inspector," said Phryne teasingly, her eyes shining.

Jack found that he couldn't find anything to say. There was so much that he knew he should say, that he wanted to say, but the words froze and died away on his lips as he watched the amused sort of dancing light in Phryne's eyes.

"Phryne," he managed, but Phryne just shook her head.

"Don't say anything," she told him. "Don't spoil it, Jack."

Jack relapsed into silence, frustrated by how much like a struck dumb schoolboy-caught-in-headlights he suddenly felt.

"I notice,'" Phryne went on, "that you don't seem to be in costume. Of course, I expected something like that to happens, so I kept one aside for you. How would you like to be my knight in shining armor? I'm sure you'd look absolutely dashing in chain mail."

Jack raised an eyebrow at her. "Real chain mail?"

Phryne grinned. "What do you think?"

Jack cleared his throat.

"You know that I'm always ready to be your knight," he said gallantly, getting to his feet, "although I doubt you'll ever need one; you've proven yourself perfectly capable of slaying the dragons on your own. I will, however, have to pass on the chain mail. If you prefer, we can pretend that I'm your loyal protector incognito."

Phryne laughed.

"You're no fun," she told him, linking her arm through his and turning him towards the door.

Together, Jack's heart still doing strange, uncomfortable maneuvers in his chest, they strode back out into the throng of enthusiastic partygoers, leaving a remarkable number of things unsaid, but with Jack now amazingly, dangerously daring to hope.

 _This is the very ecstasy of love,_ he thought absently, remembering the line that Hugh had quoted at him the day before,  _whose violent property foredoes itself and leads the will to desperate undertakings._

"On second thought," he said aloud, "I might be willing to consider the chainmail."

Phryne turned and glanced at him in surprise. "Really?"

"Really," added Jack. "Please remember that I did say 'consider.' I"d have to...well, at least see it first."

Phryne reversed their course and began leading him towards the stairs.

"Step into my boudoir," she suggested softly, winking at him, "and we'll prepare ourselves for the fitting, Inspector...and perhaps a little fashion show while we're at it."

Aware that she was purposefully teasing him, Jack did his best not to rise to the bait...and almost succeeded.

"Jack," asked Phryne innocently, "do you think it's too warm in here? You're quite red."

Jack stifled a frustrated sigh, and let it go.

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

It has been a busy, busy week, and I have gotten sick again. This is not at all unusual, just annoying.

I will leave you, dear readers, with this important question:

**We know that Hugh Collins is currently in the process of putting a costume for the 'around the world' themed party.**

**What sort of costume do you think he'll be wearing?**

I'm eager to hear your ideas! We'l find out which one of you was right in the next chapter of the story!

But first, I desperately need to work on my lesson plans, and on some of my other stories...I have at least two unfinished chapters sitting on my desktop at the moment.


	4. Chapter Three

**Author's Note:** My gentleman friend and I are actively in the process of moving into a new apartment. It's dizzying and nightmarish, as moving usually is.

Please leave me a review or a comment to take my mind off of the move. I'll requite it by being your friend forever! (Or I'll do something even more useful and review a story of yours!)

Ain't too proud to beg.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

When Phryne and Jack emerged from the drawing room, the party was still in full, enthusiastic swing.

"Ah, Phryne!" Upon noticing them, an attractive woman with a very dark voice and perfectly artificial henna-red hair detached herself from the throng and came to meet them. "There you are! I was wondering when you'd make an appearance. Oh, and this must be the handsome Inspector Robinson that all the gossip's about. My my...he's even more dashing in person than the local chatter had let me to believe."

The woman extended her hand to Jack, batting her eyelashes coquettishly at him.

Phryne, inexplicably, found herself getting annoyed.

 _Really,_ she thought, pursing her lips into a tight sort of smile,  _does she have to be so aggressively theatrical? So few women seem to appreciate the seductiveness of subtlety. There's no need to overdo._

"Jack," said Phryne aloud, making sure to smile brightly as she said it, "this is Miss Portia Munroe, founder of the Victoria Women's Shakespeare Troupe."

"Ehm…charmed," muttered Jack, very briefly clasping Beatrice's hand before releasing it again.

"You'll have heard of us, of course, Inspector," said Portia. "After all, I hear from Phryne that you're something of a Shakespeare aficionado yourself…isn't that right?"

"I…dabble," muttered Jack. "I'm afraid…or, rather, maybe I'm relieved that I've never had quite the right temperament for the stage. Besides, it sounds to me like I don't fit the criteria to be a member of your company."

Portia laughed.

"Well that's certainly true," she said, "although in your case, I'm sure the ladies would be willing to make an exception. You'd make an ever-so-handsome brooding Hamlet, or a dashingly militaristic Benedick. Wouldn't he, Phryne?"

Phryne opened her mouth to reply, but before she had the chance, Jack spoke up again.

"You do me too much honor," he said quietly. "I'm afraid I'd end up botching it terribly…although if I did ever play Benedick, I know only one woman who could serve as a suitable Beatrice; endlessly infuriating, and yet somehow captivating at the same time."

He looked significantly at Phryne, and she felt her heart skip a startled sort of beat.

 _Goodness,_ she thought, carefully maintaining the casual smile.  _When ever did the Inspector become such a boldly flirtatious man? I'm not entirely sure that I like the change…or perhaps I just find myself unprepared for it. It's not at all bad, really, just…unexpected? I must admit that there is something appealing in the idea of playing Beatrice to his Benedick. They're both roles that we've been familiar with for some time….antagonists who somehow develop a grudging mutual respect. No, respect isn't exactly the word…perhaps there isn't one in the English language that quite sums it up. It's a sort of delectably snarky yet sensual anti-courtship that somehow attracts and repels at the same time. Yes...I think I really have always liked that play._

Portia just shook her head. "Well, if I can't have you, Inspector, perhaps I can at least convince Phryne. We're not doing 'Much Ado About Nothing,' but I'm very excited to announce that we'll be starting rehearsals next week for our production of 'Antony and Cleopatra.' There are some similarities between the two plays, of course; both feature couples; deeply infatuated with each other and completely unable to stop fighting about it."

"Indeed." Jack nodded. "Two of the most realistic of the bard's works, perhaps."

 _Do you think so?_ Phryne frowned.  _I wonder if that's what Jack's marriage was like. After all, there must have been some good reason why it ended…and knowing Jack, he didn't just get bored. Rosie never seemed like the type to step out on her husband, either…not that I know her at all, really. Perhaps she was something of a dark horse…and somehow, I think I'd be quite delighted if she was. I doubt it, though. That sort of woman would hardly be Jack's type._

"I'll be looking forward to seeing the play," she told Portia. "You'll have to come with me, Jack. For once, it's the sort of social extravagance you might enjoy."

"Actually," interjected Portia, "we were hoping that you, Phryne might agree to be IN the play."

"Oh?" Phryne raised an eyebrow. "You have some parts available, then? That seems a little dangerous, so close to the beginning of rehearsals."

Portia sighed and made a helpless gesture with both hands.

"Our Cleopatra," she explained, "has become inconveniently pregnant. Her husband absolutely refuses to allow her to continue on with the production, even though it's the role of a lifetime! I was at my wits end what to do until I thought of you. You'd be the most perfectly regal Cleopatra that the stage has ever seen, Phryne…you know you would. It's a part you were born to play!"

Phryne laughed. "Me, for Cleopatra? That's a generous offer, but a very tall order, isn't it? I'm certainly flattered, Portia, but-!"

"I have to say that I agree with Miss Munroe," interrupted Jack unexpectedly. "The role of the woman who brought about the downfall of one of the proudest men in Rome does seem somehow to suit you perfectly. You've played it before, I believe…at a party, once. I distinctly remember the, ehm, costume."

Phryne grinned at him. "Oh, so do I, Jack. You were to be my Triple Pillar of the World, that night…although I'm afraid the evening didn't end as auspiciously as it began."

Remembering the terrible hours that she had spent after that party, chasing after the escaped Murdoch Foyle and agonizing over the safety of poor Jane, Phryne took a deep breath.

She felt Jack's hand tighten comfortingly on her arm for a moment, but when she looked over at him, he was still focused on Portia.

"Well," said Phryne, doing her best to shake off the echoes of that miserable memory, "If you're serious about the part, then I certainly would like to try my hand at classical drama. It will be quite the new experience for me. The rest of the play is already cast?"

Portia breathed out a sigh of relief. "Oh good," she said. "I'm so glad. Yes, the rest of the cast's already been decided upon…and we'll want to you all to meet, to get to know each other better as soon as possible. Being more comfortable with your fellow performers will no doubt make your more intimate scenes with Marc Antony a little bit easier."

"I'm looking forward to it," replied Phryne.

Jack coughed, and when Phryne glanced over at him, she found him looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Oh, don't worry, Inspector," laughed Portia. "Remember, all my actors are women…and so is our Antony."

"I'm…not honestly sure that makes it any better," muttered Jack under his breath in a low voice that Phryne wasn't sure she'd been supposed to hear.

"Thank you very much for thinking of me," she told Portia, beaming. "What a lot of fun this is going to be."

"There is," sighed Portia, "only one more slight problem, but it's much easier to fix than an absent Cleopatra. We've yet to find ourselves a qualified stage manager; just someone to read in for missing actors, to keep track of missed cues and to help sort through props and costumes and the like."

"I think," began Phryne, "that I may know exactly the woman for that job. She'd never dream of setting foot onto the stage itself, but she's absolutely brilliant at taking notes, making observations and handling a lady's wardrobe."

"Oh, do you? How wonderful!" Portia looked delighted. "She sounds like exactly the person we need!"

Jack cleared his throat.

"May I remind you, Miss Fisher," he began, "that Mrs. Collins is now a married woman with her own set of responsibilities?"

Phryne waved that away with one dismissive hand.

"Nonsense, Jack," she said. "Her husband is away all day at the police department, as you well know, and all poor Dot has to occupy her at the moment is unpacking and cleaning; which surely can't be too much of a burden, as Hugh isn't THAT messy a creature. She's bored out of her mind, and she has been for months. No doubt she'd welcome something to do with her copious spare time. Dot doesn't like to be idle, after all."

"Her husband is unlikely to be pleased," retorted Jack.

Phryne shrugged. "Well," she said, "Hugh's welcome to feel however he likes about it, but I can't imagine why he'd reasonably object. After all, unlike the unfortunate former Cleopatra, Dot isn't pregnant."

Jack opened his mouth, shut it again, and then frowned.

"I suspect," he said carefully, "that Mrs. Collins' family is something of a work in progress at the moment."

Phryne laughed.

"Well and very delicately put," she told Jack. "In that case, if that's what he really wants, then I suggest that Hugh try a little bit harder. Dot's not a very demanding young woman; not difficult to impress. No doubt a little candlelight and perhaps some appropriate music would do the trick."

Jack's eyes widened a little, and then he averted his gaze and became suddenly very interested in a portrait hanging on the far wall.

"That is not," he muttered, "exactly what I meant."

Phryne ignored him.

"I'll ask her," Phryne told Portia, "and I'll be in touch shortly."

Portia nodded. "I'd appreciate it ever so much. I can get you rehearsal information by tomorrow night, in that case."

"Wonderful." Phryne smiled, then took Jack firmly by the arm again and began steering him towards the stairs.

"If you'll excuse me," she told Portia, "I've got some greeting and mingling to do. Lovely to have you seen you…I can't wait to start work on the play!"

She smiled at Portia, who smiled back before shooting a quick, very come-hither sort of look at Jack.

"Is my time, up, then?" Portia sighed. "Very well, maybe I'll go have another go at your Butler."

As Portia wandered off into the crowd, Phryne sighed and shook her head.

"Poor Mr. Butler," she said. "Portia consistently monopolizes him when she comes to call."

"Is she," asked Jack, "a particular fan of your brand of champagne? If so, I can't say I blame her."

"Oh, no, it's not that," insisted Phryne. "She was quite serious when she suggested having a go at Mr. Butler. Portia's absolutely silly about him…he's confided in me more than once that she's made…well, amorous overtures."

Jack looked startled.

"Really," he muttered. "Isn't…well, isn't Mr. Butler almost twice your age? Twice hers as well, I'd expect, although I've never been much good at judging women's ages without a coroner's report."

"You're not wrong," replied Phryne. "Portia simply prefers older men. It's not that unusual. I'm afraid, however, that Mr. Butler doesn't return the attentions. He says it would be unseemly, but really I think he's just entirely too attached to the memory of his wife. She must have been a remarkable woman…I think he loved her very much."

Jack only nodded.

"I can understand that," he said quietly. "Some women leave such an impression that it's almost impossible to imagine wasting time with another."

He turned slightly away from Phryne when he said it, and she found herself ridiculously wishing she could get a better glimpse of the look in his eyes.

"On another note entirely," continued Jack conversationally, "if you say that Miss Munroe prefers older men, than that leaves me wondering why on earth she was wasting her time flirting so obviously with me."

Phryne smiled maliciously at him.

"I wouldn't worry, Jack," she told him. "You're going a very attractively distinguished sort of grey. It really does suit some men."

Jack glared at her.

"I am not," he said, "going grey at all, thank you. Wasn't it you who told me only a few minutes ago that I wasn't old?"

Phryne gave his arm a little squeeze.

"We are all," she told him, "getting older every day…that's why I prefer to live now, in case tomorrow turns out not to be an option."

Jack looked as though he intended to respond to that, but at that moment Hugh and Dorothy suddenly appeared on the stairwell in front of them. Hugh was dressed in an incredibly ill-fitting chainmail doublet and equipped with a large costume sword. He looked dubious and uncomfortable, although Dorothy was beaming from ear to ear, obviously very proud.

"Oh," said Phryne. "Dot, I thought you'd picked out the Dhoti for Hugh. Couldn't you find it? I thought I'd had Mr. Butler lay it out for you."

"Oh, I found it, Miss," Dorothy assured Phryne, "but in the end I thought Hugh looked much better in this one. Don't you think he cuts such a wonderfully heroic figure?"

She smiled dotingly at her husband, and Hugh straightened himself up, doing his best to look heroic and not awkward or dwarfed by the oversized costume.

"Ah, well," sighed Phryne. "I suppose I'm out of luck, then. I was going to offer the Inspector the chainmail."

Dorothy looked startled.

"I-I am sorry," she mumbled. "I'll have him change out of it right away. If I'd known that you were planning on using it, Miss, then I'd-!"

"That," interrupted Jack hurriedly, "won't be necessary, Mrs. Collins. Let the Constable be our knight in shining armor for the evening. Miss Fisher will have to make do with a simple public servant."

He turned and gave her one of his wry smiles, and Phryne sighed dramatically in mock despair, shaking her head.

"Oh, very well," she said. "Of course, we could always go upstairs and dress Jack in the Dhoti that Hugh seems to have rejected."

Jack shook his head. "I'm afraid that won't do," he said seriously. "For me, it was the chainmail or nothing. I had my heart on it, you see. I do hope you'll forgive me."

He shrugged apologetically, and Phryne hid a smile.

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

Please do forgive me if there are multiple typos in this chapter. I'm suddenly feeling…not very good.

I'm going to go lie down. I promise that I'll fix any significant grammatical errors ASAP! Thank you for your patience.


	5. Chapter Four

**Author's Note:** Therapeutic fanfic writing, take…four?

Hmm, the formatting on my word document seems a little off. Can't quite figure out why; something's not quite right with my software. Again, please forgive me if there are typos or formatting errors running rampant in this chapter. I promise to do my best to correct the quality as soon as is physically possible.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

About a week after Miss Fisher's 'Around the World' party, Jack received another invitation; this time at his own home over his hasty breakfast.

 _You are cordially invited_ , read the elegantly embossed little slip of white paper,  _to the wedding ceremony of Mr. Arnold Morton and Mrs. Rosie Sanderson._

The date, time, and location of the ceremony were also noted down, but Jack just frowned into his toast and coffee and didn't pay it much mind.

 _About time,_ he thought, carefully placing the invitation into his trouser pocket and returning his full attention to breakfast.  _How long has it been now since those two became engaged? Months…surely. It was only a few months after our formal separation that Rosie became engaged to Sidney Fletcher…which unfortunately ended even more terribly for her than her marriage to me. That seems like a very long time ago, now. A good deal has happened since then, in more ways than one._

He still wasn't entirely sure how he felt about Rosie's impending marriage. Whenever he thought about her or saw her walking down the street, arm in arm with her brand new, far more suitable beau, Jack was aware of a dull, vaguely disappointed sort of ache in his chest; the inevitable knowledge that something that had once been beautiful between them was now over forever, and that whatever beautiful moments Rosie's life had left in it were hers to share with another man. He didn't miss her; didn't wish he could have her back. Near the end of their partnership, life with Rosie had been uncomfortable during the best of times and unbearable at the worst. He still felt a certain lingering affection for her, now, but it never manifested itself into anything more than the memory of a friendship that sadly hadn't blossomed into any of the lovely could-have-beens they'd imagined when they'd first said their vows.

 _It's almost like it was another lifetime,_ thought Jack.  _I wish her every happiness…and I suppose that I'll end up going to the wedding, although I don't particularly relish the thought. It will be awkward, certainly, but it's also very much the right thing to do…to show her that there are no regrets. No hard feelings, only blessings from the man who couldn't find it in himself to give her the life she wanted. She deserves to be happy after everything she's been through with her father, with Fletcher and with me._

Despite his best wishes for Rosie's future, Jack found himself in a dour, contemplative sort of mood all that morning at the police station. Police business was relatively slow, which either meant that the local crime rate had actually fallen for a few merciful hours, or that some of the patrols and men manning the telephones weren't effectively doing their jobs.

Beside Jack at the desk, Hugh yawned.

Jack glanced over at him. "Long night again, Collins?"

Hugh flushed and coughed nervously into his sleeve, "Ah, n-no, sir, not at all. Not sure what's come over me, really. Just…can't seem to keep my eyes open this morning."

"Please try to remember," suggested Jack wryly, doing his best not to crack a smile, "that despite the efforts you are obviously putting in at efficient family planning; you are still expected to show up at work as wide awake as ever. I'm afraid the honeymoon is over."

"Y-yes, sir," mumbled Hugh miserably. Then he yawned again, which only made it worse, and this time Jack had a very hard time not laughing.

"It's uh only because Dottie's been coming home so late," Hugh insisted, straightening himself up in his chair and making an obvious effort to look more alert and alive. "She's out at those rehearsals until almost after ten, some nights, and by the time she gets home-!"

"There's very little time left for…household chores," supplied Jack, while Hugh's face slowly turned gradually redder and redder. "Believe me, Collins, I quite understand your predicament. Perhaps Mrs. Collins could be persuaded to take at least one night off from rehearsals this week?"

Hugh snorted a laugh. "Not likely," he said. "You know, Inspector, I really thought things were going to be different for us, now that we're married and that Dottie's not working anymore…but nothing's changed, really, from the days when we were courting. She still does whatever Miss Fisher likes, whenever Miss Fisher asks her. It just doesn't seem fair."

Jack frowned. "Fair to Dorothy, or fair to you, Constable?"

Hugh opened his mouth to answer, then paused and looked startled and slightly ashamed for a moment.

"Well," he began, "I…I don't entirely know, sir. Both, maybe?"

Jack just shook his head.

"Mrs. Collins," he said, "willingly quit her job with Miss Fisher at your request. It's a job that meant the world to her; if that isn't proof of how devotedly she loves you, then I don't know what is. Might I suggest that that in itself is a step in the right direction? She's an independent woman, religious piety or not, and the more you try to take that independence away from her, the harder she's likely to fight against you. Let her spread her wings a little, and in time she'll see how much you care for her and return to you of her own accord."

Hugh perked up a little. "Do you really think so, sir?"

Jack shrugged. "Probably. I confess that her attachment to Miss Fisher does predate her engagement to you….and so it's probably a bit stronger than we're giving it credit for, but that's not necessarily such a bad thing. Your wife loves you, and she's faithful to you. She's not wasting her time with other men, she's spending it pursuing her other perfectly harmless interests. For the moment, try to let that be enough. I don't think you'll regret it."

He stopped, and for a moment there was only thoughtful silence in the room.

"Wow," sir," murmured Hugh eventually. "I had no idea you were so, uh…well, wise. I mean, you give good advice, sir. I suppose it's because you've already had quite a bit of experience in these matters."

Jack raised an eyebrow at him.

"Um, I mean," stammered Hugh hurriedly, "with your wife, ah…former wife, I mean. Mrs. Sanderson. I wasn't implying-!"

"She'll be Mrs. Morton in a few weeks," Jack reminded him.

"Oh." Hugh looked startled. "Is that so, then? W-well, congratulations…to the two of them, I mean."

"Indeed," muttered Jack.

"Do you think, sir," asked Hugh, "that you'll be going to the wedding? I...well, I assume you've been invited."

Jack was saved from answering that question by the ring of the desk telephone. Hugh quickly picked it up and held the receiver to his ear.

"Yes," he said into the phone. "City South, this is Constable Collins. I What's-? Dottie? What? Oh yes, of course. Yes, certainly, um, the Inspector's here too. Yes. Quite. What did you say the address was, again? Of course I'm writing it down. Yes. YES. Very good, then, tell her we'll be right over."

He slammed down the receiver with slightly more aggression than usual, and turned quickly around to face Jack again."

Jack frowned. "Trouble, Constable?"

Hugh sighed.

"I'm afraid so, sir," he muttered. "It was Dottie on the phone. Seems something's gone wrong at one of her rehearsals. An accident, apparently."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "What sort of accident?"

Hugh shrugged. "A death, as I'm sure you'd already gathered. One of the actresses seems to have fallen ill, sir; Dot says one of the other ladies found her only moments ago lying dead on the floor of the bathroom. No signs of struggle or injury, as far as Dot can tell."

Nodding slowly, Jack stood up.

"I'm sure," he suggested, "that Mrs. Collins didn't say exactly that on the phone."

Hugh shook his head.

"No," he admitted. "She says that Miss Fisher believes that it was really a murder, and that they're all expecting us right away. I…wish I didn't believe this, but it almost sounded to me as though Dottie was, well…excited about the idea of there having been foul play involved."

Jack was already grabbing his coat from the hook.

"Don't worry too much about it, Collins," he suggested. "I'm sure Mrs. Collins is only happy that she'll have the chance to see you during the regular work day. That's likely all it was."

Jack's own heart had inexplicably started to beat a little faster than usual, and he was feeling more than just a bit excited himself as he glanced at his reflection in the coffee pot and carefully straightened his tie.

"Come along, Collins," he said energetically, starting towards the door. "We'd better get moving if we're planning on doing any real detective work, since Miss Fisher has apparently already had such a pronounced head start."

Hugh gave Jack a doubtful look.

"You're whistling, Inspector," he said accusingly.

"What?" Jack blinked. "No, I'm not."

"Yes," insisted Hugh, "You are, sir. You're whistling 'Coquette,' by Guy Lombardo. Heard it on the wireless this very morning, sir. Hardly seems appropriate, considering we're about to go investigate a suspicious death."

Jack cleared his throat and carefully stopped whistling.

"There's nothing wrong with a little upbeat energy in the morning," he informed his constable seriously."I'm only demonstrating the necessity of being alert and awake while on duty, which is more than we can say for you, at the moment."

Hugh chose that unfortunate moment to yawn hugely again, then made a face and sighed.

As the two of them hurried out of the station together, Jack found that he couldn't quite keep himself from humming the popular new radio tune that he'd heard, just as Hugh had said, on that morning's broadcast.

 _Hear me,_ he sang silently to himself as they piled into the car,  _why you keep fooling?_

_Little coquette, making fun of the one who loves you._

_Breaking hearts you are ruling,_

_Little coquette, true hearts tenderly dreaming of you._

_Someday you'll fall in love as I fell in love with you-!_

"Sir," demanded Hugh, interrupting Jacks' mentally musical interlude. "Are you planning on starting the car?"

Jack cleared his throat, did his best to keep looking professional and not at all sheepish, and turned the key in the ignition, the sounds of the little song continuing to play in his head while they ambled along at a sane and reasonable pace for Miss Portia Munroe's residence.

* * *

When they arrived and knocked, Miss Munroe herself immediately opened the door to them.

"Oh, Inspector," she gasped in just as theatrical a voice as she'd used at the party a week or so before. "You're here at last! We're ever so glad. There's been a MURDER in the midst of our rehearsal! Do come in, please. We're absolutely at our wit's end what to do about poor Angie!"

Hugh pulled out his notebook.

"Angie?" He frowned. "Is that the name of the, ah, unfortunate...lady in question, then?"

"Yes," agreed Miss Munroe, "Angie Grace...THE Miss Angie Grace of such excellent theatrical renown. Or, at least I'm sure she would have achieved such incredible renown if only she'd been able to pursue what was, I assure you, a highly promising acting career. Now, however...alas! All is lost. Cut down in her very prime! Goodnight, sweet Angie, and flights of angels sing they to thy rest! Oh good lord..."

While Miss Munroe ushered them into the drawing room, Jack frowned disapprovingly at her back.

 _Hugh was right,_ he thought.  _There is something decidedly strange about this. For all of her protestations, Miss Munroe doesn't sound 'at her wit's end.' She sounds absolutely delighted...almost manically so. Is that a reason to be suspicious, or just further proof that she's one of those particularly intolerably dramatic theater types who gets her kicks from any kind of morbid excitement?_

The drawing room turned out to contain several women around Miss Munroe's own age, all dressed in extremely ornamental gold and silver-lined togas and beautiful bronze Roman-style sandals. They were all clustered around the prone form of a blond woman in a similar toga, draped across the couch with her head lolling listlessly to one side. Phryne herself was in the midst of the group, wearing that sleekly eye-catching Cleopatra costume that still haunted Jack's favorite nightmares.

As soon as Phryne saw him, she stood up.

"Jack," she said, sounding far more serious and matter-of-fact than Miss Munroe had done, "I'm very glad you've come. Everyone, this is Detective Inspector Jack Robinson and Senior Constable Hugh Collins. Jack, you'll never believe this…but I think that we have found signs of foul play after all."

Jack shrugged.

"I don't find that so very strange," he told her. "You've identified one more than murder case correctly over the years. I have plenty of reason to pay attention when you suggest that there might have been, as you put it, 'foul play.'"

Phryne only shook her head.

"That's not the unbelievable part," she insisted. "Look here, Jack. It seems our murderer got impatient with the long exposition scenes and jumped right to the final climax of the play."

She tapped gently at the victim's throat, and when Jack bent down to get a closer look, he noticed what looked like two tiny red puncture marks on the left side of the collarbone.

"It's a snakebite," Phryne explained, sounding as though she barely believed it herself. "The very death Cleopatra selects for herself at the end of the play…although it's all wrong, of course, because poor Angie wasn't playing Cleopatra. She was playing Marc Antony. Falling on her own sword would have been more the thing…although somehow, I suspect that this particular dramatic end wasn't a suicide."

"Suicide by fatal asp doesn't seem nearly as likely in twentieth-century Victoria as it would have during the Roman Republic," agreed Jack, nodding slowly. "I do have to admit, however, that murder by snakebite seems equally unlikely. I don't suppose, Miss Munroe, that you keep snakes as housepets?"

"Oh, no," sighed Miss Munroe, shaking her head. "I don't…no pets at all, as a matter of fact. The only snakes in this house at the moment are the two rubber asps on the props table…that's the long one by the mantle, over there, with the purple velvet drape. They're completely harmless…unless, of course, you believe in the superstition that terrible things might befall any theater company who dares to perform one of the bard's tragedies. Why, all sorts of horrendous deaths have occurred during productions of Shakespeare's darker works!"

The various other women in the room began murmuring excitedly amongst themselves in agreement.

Jack cleared his throat, and spoke up to be heard over all the chatter.

"I believe," he said firmly, "that the superstition in question only applies to productions of Shakespeare's 'Macbeth.'"

Miss Munroe and a few of the other women looked instantly scandalized.

"Inspector," breathed Miss Munroe. "You said the name of the play! How…how very bold and dangerous of you!"

Jack ignored her. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Phryne was watching him expectantly, a little smile playing around the corner of her mouth.

"I have never heard," he went on, "of any superstition surrounding 'Antony and Cleopatra,' and so I think we can immediately rule that sort of thing out."

Miss Munroe looked slightly disappointed, while Phryne's eyes danced.

"Don't worry," Phryne leaned in to murmur to Miss Munroe. "Next time, we'll take care to do a truly cursed piece of theater. That' sure to draw the crowds, don't you think?"

Jack had to force himself to tear his eyes away from Phryne Fisher and to focus on the matter at hand.

"If you please," he began, clearing his throat, "I'd like to hear exactly how events transpired from the beginning of rehearsal until the time that Miss Grace here began to feel sick."

Hugh removed his pen from his pocket, then turned to see that Dorothy had already started jotting something down in her own notebook beside him.

"All right," announced Phryne. "I'll begin, then. I arrived here around seven o'clock, and Angie…that is, Miss Grace came in shortly after me. We were all sitting down in the dining room for a quick dinner over our script notes, when unexpectedly..."

* * *

 **Author's End Note:** I do love writing about Shakespeare and the theater!

Don't worry; we will hear more about the murder and the events leading up to it in much greater and more accurate detail from Phryne's point of view in the next chapter. Stay tuned for morbid murderous fun, and thank you as always for reading!

PS: If you've never heard of the Macbeth superstition and are curious, pleas feel free to ask.


	6. Chapter Five

**Author's Note:** Three updates in as many days? Can Ari do it, or will she be defeated by the terrible "packing," or mown down in her prime by the miserable "studying for the Praxis RVE?" Tune in tonight to find out!

Formatting still an issue. Thank you for your patience. I'll be writing from a different computer later to see if that helps at all.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Phryne frowned as she tried to remember exactly how events had transpired at the beginning of that evening.

"I arrived here around seven o'clock, and Angie…that is, Miss Grace came in shortly after me. We were all sitting down in the dining room for a quick dinner over our script notes, when-!"

"Excuse me," interrupted Jack. "When you say 'all of you,' who exactly does that include?"

"I was there," announced Dorothy. "I came in Mrs. Foster's car…and I think Ms. White arrived only a few minutes after we did."

"Very good, Dot." Phryne nodded approvingly. "I'm afraid that everyone else was already here when Angie and I arrived. Unfortunately, Angie's never been famous for punctuality."

Jack frowned. "And you?"

"Me?" Phryne raised an eyebrow at him. "As you well know, Jack, I pride myself on being perfectly timely. In this case, however, I had an excuse. When rehearsal began, I was still on my way back from a coffee date with a friend."

Phryne thought she saw Jack's throat move convulsively for a moment, and then he coughed and hastily turned his attention back to Dorothy.

"Who else," he asked, taking a deep breath "was at the rehearsal tonight?"

"Oh, well…Miss Munroe was, of course," said Dorothy, shooting a quick, uncomfortable look between Phryne and Jack.

"Naturally," agreed Portia, nodding. "I do think that's everyone."

"Not quite," said Phryne, shaking her head. "Let's not forget about Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen. They're Portia's staff, Jack."

"They both left about an hour ago for the pictures," clarified Portia. "They were here to set the table and to clear away after the meal, but it's their night off. I heard the car drive off while we were settling down in here to begin our reading."

Jack nodded. Phryne watched amusedly while Dorothy leaned over to point out an inaccuracy in Hugh's notes, which Hugh didn't seem to much appreciate.

"The actual rehearsal portion of the evening began sometime after eight o'clock," said Phryne aloud.

Jack frowned at her.

"This seems like a very small cast," he remarked. "I've never heard of this play being performed with only four people."

"Five," Portia corrected him. "I'm acting as well as directing. All the best directors do, you know."

Jack shot her an unimpressed sort of look.

"Five, then," he said. "Still, if I recall correctly, there are more than thirty characters in this play."

Phryne smiled at him. "Thirty-four, in fact," she said, "but we're double-casting, of course, and we've cut a few roles to save time and to conserve the audience's patience. There are fifteen actors participating altogether, but tonight we planned to work only on the last two scenes of act five, in which only the five of us have any significant lines."

"That would be Cleopatra, Antony, Charmian, Iras, and Octavian," murmured Jack.

"Exactly right." Phryne nodded. "Perhaps you should have been a university professor instead of a Detective Inspector, Jack. I can almost imagine you in glasses and a stiff tweed jacket, lecturing a room full of rapt and eager literature students on the finer points of William Shakespeare."

"Yes," muttered Jack. "I imagine you think I'm just stodgy and pedantic enough for the academic life."

"Not at all," retorted Phryne, winking at him. "I just think there's something remarkably attractive about an intellectual in a well-cut set of tweeds. You'd fit the bill nicely."

Jack's eyes flew open in some surprise.

"And," added Phryne, "you do have such a passionate way of reciting poetry. I've only heard it once or twice, of course, but I've no doubt that you'd captivate a room...even a room full of disinterested students. You certainly had that effect on me."

"You flatter me, Miss Fisher," murmured Jack in a low voice that sent a little thrill shooting down Phryne's spine. "If you like, I'll happily recite you any Shakespeare of your choosing once this case is over."

"Oh," murmured Portia. Phryne was aware of Dorothy shifting uncomfortably a few feet away from her, and of the women on the sofa beginning to murmur to each other in low voices.

"I might like that," replied Phryne quietly. "Of course…I may have had enough of Shakespeare for a while after this. Perhaps you could surprise me with something a little more…modern. Something, perhaps that I haven't heard before?"

Jack just nodded, and Phryne was delightedly sure, now, that his ears had turned a shade pinker.

"Ahem." Hugh suddenly cleared his throat and took a step forward, shooting a slightly alarmed look at Jack. "You were saying, Miss Fisher, that the rehearsal began at eight o'clock?"

"Just after," Phryne corrected Hugh. "We worked on poor Angie's death scene for a good twenty minutes or so, and then Angie said that she wasn't feeling terribly well and that she'd like to use the ladies. Portia escorted her over to the bathroom, and then when Portia came back we switched scenes for a time and began working on my death scene. It was some thirty minutes after that, more or less, when we realized that Angie had never come back from the ladies' room, so Martha…that's Miss Martha White, went to check on her."

A larger coffee-colored woman, presumably Martha White, nodded uncomfortably at Jack.

"I went off to find Angie," she said, taking up where Phryne had left off. "I knocked on the bathroom door, but no one answered. When I called Angie's name and she didn't respond, I got worried and went in to see if she was feeling any better. I…"

Martha stopped suddenly, swallowed hard and shut her eyes for a moment.

"When I found her," she began again, "Angie was passed out on the floor, white as a sheet, and she looked horribly sick, so I called for Portia and Phryne and the others, and…well, then I'm not entirely certain what happened. I don't…I don't quite remember."

"Martha fainted," clarified Phryne. "I just barely managed to keep her from cracking her own skull on the bathroom floor…and then after we'd gotten her safely back to the parlor, Dot and Mrs. Foster carried Angie in after her."

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"You say you moved Miss Grace's body?" He pursed his lips in disapproval. "I should have thought that you, Miss Fisher, of all people would know better than to tamper with a crime scene."

Phryne just shrugged.

"It wasn't a crime scene when I found it, Jack," she retorted. "There wasn't any body at the time, either. Angie was still very much alive when we brought her out of the bathroom. She was unconscious, but I'm quite certain that she was breathing, and we did everything we could to revive her. Unfortunately, she passed away before we managed to get a word out of her…and then, of course, Dot telephoned for you. It was only after we'd called you that we noticed the bite on her neck."

"Nothing's been touched in the bathroom," said Dorothy helpfully. "I made sure of that."

"Yes," agreed Portia, nodding. "And no one's left the parlor since poor Angie passed, Inspector. I believe that is the correct procedure in the face of a murder investigation?"

"Yes it is," agreed Jack. "You've done very well, Miss Munroe. I would appreciate it if you would all remain here a bit longer, while I go and examine the bathroom. Mrs. White, if you would kindly show me where you first found Miss Grace?"

Martha reluctantly started to get up, but Phryne was faster.

"No need, Martha," she said, jumping to her feet and starting off towards the bathrooms. "I'm sure you've had quite enough excitement for one day. Come along, Jack…I'll lead the way."

Stepping around the prone form of what had once been Miss Angie Grace, Phryne grabbed Jack by the arm and hustled him around the corner and over to the bathrooms.

"She was lying right there," announced Phryne, throwing open the door and pointing at the requisite spot on the floor. "On her stomach, with her face to the floor. Perhaps that's why we didn't notice at first that she'd been…bitten."

Jack frowned and walked over to the spot.

"Here," he said.

Phryne nodded. "That's right."

Jack sighed and sat down on the floor where she'd indicated.

"I hope you'll forgive me for saying so," he remarked, chewing thoughtfully on his lip, "but there are a number of things about your story, Phryne, that don't…actually make a great deal of sense."

Phryne nodded encouragingly. "Oh, I quite agree," she said. "For example, Angie began feeling sick during our rehearsal in the parlor; a good thirty minutes before we found her in the bathroom. In that case, she must have suffered her fatal injury during the rehearsal, not, as the other ladies seem to believe, on the bathroom floor."

Jack nodded.

"Exactly," he agreed. "And if she was bitten during the rehearsal, how is it that no one noticed the snakebite until after you'd found her in the bathroom? For that matter, I'm not entirely sure this was a murder, unless one of Miss Angie Grace's fellow performers happens to have been a snake charmer. True, snakebite in your own parlor is rare and unlikely in the city, but not impossible. I suppose we'll have to get the coroner to determine exactly what kind of snake venom is present in the wounds, if there is any at all, before we can draw any reasonable conclusions on that score."

Phryne smiled.

I believe I can help you there, Inspector," she murmured, reaching unexpectedly into the waistband of her skirt and producing a small, dull grey object. "I didn't want to show it off in front of the ladies of the Troupe, but I found this tucked between the sofa cushions just after Dot finished telephoning you. Careful – I'm afraid I've already destroyed any hope of fingerprints, but we wouldn't want you to prick your finger."

She held it out to Jack, and he took it gingerly from her, holding it up to the bathroom light to examine it more carefully.

"It's a needle," he said.

Phryne nodded. "It certainly is. Look at the tip…carefully, please."

Jack frowned down at the needle's point, and then widened his eyes and nodded.

"I suppose," he began, That I'm to assume that the red stain on the point is-!"

"Blood, yes," agreed Phryne, "although I can't actually prove it until you've had your coroner's report. It might not even be Angie's blood, but that certainly wouldn't surprise me."

Jack removed a plastic bag from the pocket of his coat, and very carefully slipped the needle into it.

"I'm not entirely sure that there was any snake involved in poor Miss Grace's death," announced Phryne triumphantly, lowering her voice a little bit so as not to be heard by the ladies in the parlor. "Perhaps that's only what the murderer wanted us to believe. Of course, I do expect that you'll find snake venom when you test the needle. The ladies of the VWST are far too imaginative to be as careless as to allow such an obvious discrepancy in their murder story."

"I agree," muttered Jack grimly. "Sometimes I think that performers are the most dangerous kinds of people. Have you seriously been carrying this around in your skirt ever since you telephoned?"

Phryne shrugged. "I am sorry about the fingerprints, Jack, but I was out of options. I couldn't risk having the murderer find the needle and hide it away again before you arrived. What else was I to do?"

Jack just shook his head.

"I'm not concerned about the fingerprints," he muttered. "Or…I am, certainly, but that's not the point. If you really believe that this needle contains traces of deadly snake venom, then you know that you could have been pricked and infected at any time."

"I was careful not to move too much," Phryne explained. "I sat very still on the sofa and waited with everyone else…which I'd probably never had done if there hadn't been a potentially deadly needle stuck in my lingerie."

Jack coughed.

"Besides," Phryne went on, "snake venom doesn't act quite so quickly as all that. I would have probably had time, assuming you'd hurried in that car of yours, to die dramatically in your arms upon your arrival at the scene. Very fitting for a Cleopatra, don't you think?"

Jack glared at her.

"Method acting has its place," he told her sternly. "This isn't it."

Phryne laughed.

"I am fire and air," she whispered, taking a step closer to Jack who instantly dropped the plastic bag back into his pocket as she approached. "My other elements, I give to baser life. Come, take the last warmth of my lips…and so, a long farewell. The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, which hurts and is desired."

Jack swallowed hard, glanced at Phryne's lips for a moment, and then averted his eyes.

"Thus dies the proudest queen of Egypt," murmured Phryne. "You see, I've been working on my lines."

"You…seem to have left out a few," mumbled Jack. "I don't believe that recitation was word perfect."

Phryne raised an eyebrow.

"Wasn't it?" She shrugged. "Well, I suppose I could use a little more practice. Since you seem to be so admirably well-versed in the play, perhaps you'd like to come by later, after you've finished your investigation, to help me study my lines. Far be it from me to reject the aid of an expert."

She smiled and cocked her head inquiringly at him. Jack let out a long, frustrated sort of sigh.

"Delighted," he managed. "Anything to help…of course."

* * *

 **Author's End Note:** Huzzah, I got in another chapter before work!

I used a number of elements in this chapter that I've also used in some of my original stories. Didn't realize I was doing it until I'd finished writing the chapter.

If you're ever curious to see any of them, please let me know…but no pressure. I've really long since given up expecting people to want to read my original work. *sigh*


	7. Chapter Six

**Author's Note:** Two updates in one day! Huzzah!

I'm actually writing this at a rehearsal for my Shakespeare company. I'm not on until the next act, so there's plenty of time. Let's see if I can get the whole thing done before my entrance. Can I actually write a chapter in an hour? Ready? GO!

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Late that night, Jack knocked, as so often before, on the door of Miss Fisher's residence.

To his surprise, when the door opened Phryne herself was there to greet him.

"Hello Jack," she said, smiling at him and stepping aside to welcome him in. "I've been waiting for you. Everyone else has already gone up to bed early, which is probably for the best. I do get so very self-conscious practicing in front of other people. If we're careful, than no one else will have to know."

She batted her eyelashes playfully at Jack, and he gave her a doubtful look.

"That," he said simply, "is an outright lie. You've never been self-conscious in your life."

Phryne laughed.

"All right," she admitted, shrugging. "Maybe I just wanted you all to myself for the evening. Come on, let's have a drink before we start the hard work."

She led him into the drawing room, where there were already two full glasses set aside for them on the mantelpiece.

"Best that we don't overdo tonight," murmured Phryne, passing Jack a glass and raising her own to her lips. "After all, if we have too much fun, then we'll never be able to focus on the task at hand."

Jack knew that she was talking about the drinks, of course, but he couldn't help imagining a few other ways that they might end up having "too much fun."

"In that case," he said stiffly, downing his drink in a single gulp and sinking into one of the nearby chairs, "perhaps we'd better get started right away, before I'm too tired to be of much assistance. I'm afraid it's been a long day already."

Phryne just shrugged, then took a sip of her own drink before sitting down and scooting her chair a little closer to his.

"I have the script here," she said, handing it to him. "Unless, of course, you'd rather try to perform the scene from memory?"

Jack accepted the script and opened it to the first page, grateful for an excuse to take his eyes off the picture of Phryne's face in the dim light.

"I'm afraid that I'm not nearly as good as you think I am," he muttered. "I haven't even read the play in years. I'd be incapable of producing from memory."

"And yet," Phryne reminded him, "you were so sure, this afternoon, that I had the speech wrong when I delivered it in the bathroom."

Jack didn't have a good response for that, so he just took a deep breath and settled himself back a little farther in the chair.

"Where," he asked, "would you like to begin? Should we work on that death scene that you were practicing in rehearsal today?"

"I'm afraid not," replied Phryne. "Portia doesn't like us to work too much outside of rehearsal on scenes that she hasn't finished blocking yet. She's worried that we'll end up practicing the wrong way, and that she won't be able to correct the damage done."

Jack just nodded. "That's reasonable."

"I don't think so," retorted Phryne. "She's entirely too insistent on the blocking for this play…on exactly where we're going to stand, and exactly when she wants us to raise our arms or tilt our heads, or whatever else. It's frankly stifling! What's wrong with a little improvisation?"

Jack shook his head. "As an actor, yours is not to reason why."

"Mine is just to do or die as my director commands," finished Phryne. "I know, I know…but I'm certain that professional actors, at least, are given just a little more freedom to demonstrate their natural talents."

"You," retorted Jack, "are not a professional actor…although I'll grant that there are days when I think you have the perfect temperament for the stage."

Phryne snorted a laugh. "Really? I can't decide if I should be flattered or insulted."

Jack shrugged. "Both, maybe."

Giving him a wry sort of look, Phryne waved a hand at the script.

"All right," she suggested, "then why don't we begin with Act Four, Scene Four? It's on page eighty-three."

Jack dutifully began turning pages, frowning as he did so.

"Speaking of temperament," he remarked as he searched for the scene in question, "I've been meaning to ask you…what do you think of Miss Portia Munroe's temperament?"

"Portia?" Phryne shrugged. "She's…well, she's very theatrical. I haven't really known her so very long."

"Theatrical is exactly the word I would have used," agreed Jack. "Do you think she's theatrical enough to commit the murder of one of her own actors for the sake of attracting more attention to her production? She seemed unusually eager to convince both me and the rest of your number that there's some sort of 'curse' attached to your play, which I'm almost certain she knew wasn't true when she said it."

Phryne considered that for a moment, gazing thoughtfully at the candle resting on the windowsill.

"I doubt it," she said, after a long moment. "Portia can be extravagant, true, and she's certainly driven, but I don't think she'd do anything to hinder the rehearsal process. Theater is her life…or at least, she wishes it was. The whole reason that she founded the Victoria Women's Shakespeare Troupe in the first place was that she couldn't find a single professional theater that would hire a woman to direct, and ordering people to "places" is probably the only true passion she has. She wouldn't risk her precious company, even to increase the size of her audience. What if it went wrong, and the show didn't go forward? No, I really don't think she's our murderer."

Jack nodded. "I see."

"But," asked Phryne, leaning in with her eyes shining, "Jack, does this mean that you've decided we're definitely dealing with a murder case?"

Jack shook his head.

"I won't have the coroner's report back until tomorrow morning," he informed her. "We'll have a better idea then. For now, it's only speculation."

Phryne looked slightly disappointed.

"Ah, well," she sighed. "I suppose a few hours more anticipation won't kill me. In the meantime, let's focus on what we CAN achieve. Have you found the scene yet?"

Jack had.

"This seems like a strange place to start," he muttered, looking dubiously down at the page. "You barely have any lines in this scene. Most of the lines here are Antony's."

Phryne just smiled.

"Humor me," she insisted. "Really, the little, short lines in between Antony's big speeches are the hardest to keep track of. Let's start from the very beginning, shall we?"

Jack cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and began to read.

"Eros," he read out, doing his best to sound regal and lord-like, feeling just a little foolish as he did so. "Mine armor, Eros!"

"Sleep a little," murmured Phryne, sounding every bit as dark and sultry as the perfect Queen of the Nile.

"No, no, my chuck," Jack continued. "Eros, come, mine armor; Eros!"

"You have to stand, here," said Phryne in her own voice, breaking character.

Jack raised an eyebrow at her. "Why?"

"Because," she reminded him, "we have to get the blocking right. Practice the way you perform, remember?"

A bit warily, Jack got to his feet and Phryne stood up to join him.

"Eros has a line here," he said.

Don't worry about it," insisted Phryne. "I don't need the cue. This one, I remember."

Taking a step closer to Jack, she placed both her hands on his shoulders and gazed directly into his eyes.

"Nay," she said, again in the purring tones of Cleopatra. "I'll help, too."

Jack's heart caught in his throat for a moment as Phryne traced her fingers along his collar and down to his tie, which she deftly began to loosen even as she spoke the next line.

"What," she asked, "is this for?"

Startled, Jack found that he couldn't get the next words out.

"Go on, Jack," Phryne encouraged him. "In the actual play, I'll be buckling on Antony's armor during these lines. Your tie will have to serve as a substitute, for the moment. Props really do help to make the scene feel more real."

Still uncomfortably conscious of the feeling of Phryne's fingers against his bare skin, Jack glanced down at the script again and forced out the next few lines.

"Ah," he managed, "let be, let be! Thou art the armorer of my heart."

"Sooth, la," retorted Phryne as Cleopatra. "I'll help…thus it must be."

Much more slowly than she'd undone it, Phryne carefully re-tied his tie, pretending to struggle a little as though she was buckling unfamiliar armor.

"So," she asked when she'd' finally finished, "is not this buckled well?"

Jack reached up and touched the place above his collar where the skin was still tingling from the contact.

"Uh…r-rarely, rarely," he heard himself say, still dutifully reading off the lines while his mind tried desperately to maintain focus. "He that unbuckles this, till we do please to daff't for our repose, shall hear a storm. Thou fumblest, Eros; and my queen's a squire more tight at this than thou: dispatch. O love, that thou couldst see my wars to-day, and knew'st the royal occupation! Thou shouldst see a workman in't."

He paused, alarmed by the next stage direction on the page.

"Eros leaves at this point," said Phryne.

"Phryne," began Jack warningly.

He hesitated, and Phryne frowned.

"You have to kiss me, here," she informed him. "Doesn't it say so in the script?"

Jack started to protest, but Phryne just kept watching him expectantly with one eyebrow raised, and the arguments died away on his lips.

"Well, Jack?" She gestured impatiently at the script in Jack's hands. "Are you going to help me with the scene, or not?"

She took a step towards him, and Jack, unconsciously releasing the script in the process, reached out for her. He kissed her carefully and very gently, the script falling to the floor at his feet, and he heard Phryne sigh as she folded herself into his embrace.

After only a moment, Jack broke the kiss and glanced down at the script on the floor, his heart pounding and his mind racing as he cleared his throat.

"What," he asked, "do the stage directions call for next?"

Phryne shrugged.

"I don't know," she told him airily. "I can't remember. Perhaps we'd better go back and do that last part again. They say that practice makes perfect, after all."

She smiled teasingly at him, and this time when she pressed her lips to his, Jack closed his eyes and pulled her closer. Phryne parted her lips and Jack willingly deepened the kiss, aware that his own breathing had changed as he lost himself in the moment, holding Phryne hard against his chest. Phryne twined her arms around him, and Jack broke the kiss only briefly to bury his lips in her hair and then in the soft skin of her neck before capturing her lips against his again with an intensity that surprised even him.

Before he'd even realized it they'd both sunk back onto the couch, Jack still holding Phryne in his arms. When Phryne finally pulled away to snatch a breath she was draped overtop of him, her eyes shining with a light that made Jack's throat go dry.

"For what it's worth," he managed in a husky sort of voice that didn't seem to sound like his at all, "I think that you make…an incredibly convincing Cleopatra."

Phryne looked surprised for a moment, and then she laughed one of her ringing, carefree laughs before quickly kissing him again and then drawing away.

"Too kind," she murmured. "And you're not so bad yourself, Jack. You make an excellent rehearsal partner. I don't think I've ever been so involved in the scene before."

"There's…still more to the scene," mumbled Jack helplessly, gesturing at the script on the floor.

Phryne winked at him.

"Oh yes," she murmured. "There's much, much more yet to come."

Phryne made a movement as though she were going to lean down and kiss him again, and Jack started eagerly to reach for her. In mid-motion, however, Phryne suddenly paused, looked at Jack very hard for a moment, and then frowned.

"Jack," she began quietly, in a totally different voice, not sounding anything like the seductive Cleopatra she'd been only moments before.

Jack tried to straighten up a little bit, but their position on the sofa made it difficult.

"What?" He frowned. "What's wrong?"

Phryne opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again and shook her head slowly.

"Nothing," she sighed, getting to her feet in one swift movement, leaving him lying on his back gazing up foolishly at the ceiling. "Nothing at all. It's just…don't you think it's getting a bit late?"

Jack blinked at her in surprise, and found that there was something new in her eyes, now…something strangely sad.

"I…" Jack swallowed. "If I've done something to upset you, Phryne, then I…I'm very sorry. I certainly had no intention of-!"

"No!" Phryne laughed, but the laugh sounded unusually forced. "What makes you think a ridiculous thing like that? No, I've been having an absolutely splendid time."

She smiled, but the sadness in her eyes lingered. Jack felt a familiar hard, cold knot starting up again in his stomach, and he sat up on the couch, still a bit lightheaded and very confused.

"You do have work in the morning," she reminded him gently. "Of course, now that I think of it, so do I. We've got an investigation to complete. Must be at our best, mustn't we?"

She took a step back from him, turning to glance out the window as Jack struggled to his feet and began straightening his clothes and his tie.

"I…" Jack fumbled for the words, still not entirely sure what to say and desperately trying to fight off a disappointment that he was more than a little bit ashamed of feeling. "You're, uh, quite right, of course. I must not have been paying attention."

"Oh, don't worry," murmured Phryne. "Neither was I."

She led him to the door and then stood and smiled at him as he lingered on the threshold. Jack was painfully aware that this was yet another opportunity to say some of the things that inevitably stuck in his throat, and he found himself very reluctant to leave her this way.

"Goodnight, Jack," said Phryne. "Thank you very much for…all the help."

"Anytime," he managed. "As I said before, you're going to be a remarkable Cleopatra. G-goodnight, Miss Fisher."

As he turned away, he thought he could still feel Phryne's eyes on his back. He could still taste her on his lips, as well, and he could still smell the perfume in her hair that was probably now saturated into the collar of his shirt.

All the way back down the road in his car, Jack tried as hard as he could not to let himself think the ugly thoughts that didn't seem to want to stay down and buried where they belonged.

 _I wonder,_ he mused unhappily,  _if I'm perhaps the only late-night male visitor she's ever had who hasn't been invited up into the famed boudoir. The evening certainly did seem to be heading in that dangerous direction, and then...what? Perhaps she found me...somehow disappointing._

He winced, gritting his teeth at the idea, and then shook his head, doing his best to focus his attention on the road.

 _That won't do,_ he reminded himself.  _That way no good can lie. After all…I don't have any interest in being like all those other men…all those other toys of Miss Phryne Fisher's. That's for certain. I've known that from the start. Ours is a relationship of mutual respect…unlike the ones she's had with all those other men._

There were few other cars on the road that night, and as Jack turned the corner onto the main street he had very little to distract from the unpleasant echo of his thoughts.

There was no longer any point, he knew, in trying to make himself believe that "mutual respect" would ever be enough again.

 _All those other men,_ he mused bitterly.

"Little coquette," he sang tunelessly under his breath, more to drown out his own misery than for any other reason. "Making fun of the one who loves you. Someday you'll fall in love as I fell in love with you…"

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

Nope. That definitely took more than an hour.

Oh well. It was worth a try!

As always, please do drop a note to let me know what you think. Makes an author ever-so-happy to know her works' being read.

Thank you so much to everyone who's read and reviewed so far! I appreciate all of you taking the time. :


	8. Chapter Seven

**Author's Note:** I've written too much today…and now my eyes are acting up. I'm not sure I'll be able to reasonably complete this chapter this evening, but I'll make the effort anyway.

This update is for the anonymous Guest reviewer who demanded, after the last chapter, that I produce another update immediately. ;)

As you wish, oh anonymous one. Thank you for reading!

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

For a long time after Jack's car had pulled away, Phryne stood in the doorway watching the road, feeling strangely sad and unusually lonely.

When she did go back inside, she found Mr. Butler standing on the bottom step and dressed in his nightclothes, holding a steaming cup of tea.

"Oh!" Phryne blinked. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Butler. I hope we didn't disturb you."

Mr. Butler smiled and shook his head.

"Not at all, Miss," he assured her, waving his free hand dismissively. "I simply woke up in the middle of the night and realized I needed something to drink. I'm afraid that I'm not presentably dressed…I had no idea that you were still awake."

"Nonsense," murmured Phryne. "You're forgiven. There's no reason whatsoever to be presentable in the middle of the night."

Mr. Butler gave Phryne's dress a quick, curious look.

"Yes," Phryne sighed, answering the unspoken question in his eyes. "I've had a late visitor; far later than you'd think seemly, I'm afraid. I'll be up to bed myself in a few minutes."

Mr. Butler nodded.

"I take it," he said slowly, looking thoughtfully down into his teacup, "'that the Inspector won't be joining you for breakfast, then?"

Phryne glanced up sharply at him.

"Forgive me, Miss," he said in a gentle but totally unapologetic tone of voice. "Perhaps the unsuitableness of the hour and the unpresentability of my costume makes me bolder than I have any right to be."

Phryne snorted a laugh, shaking her head at him.

"No," she said quietly. "No, please…be bold, Mr. Butler. Perhaps I need someone to be bold, just now. I'm feeling inexplicably rather timid, myself."

Mr. Butler stepped down from the stairs and came to meet her.

"I find," he said, "that a cup of tea does wonders for the nerves. Would you care to join me, Miss?" He gestured at the cup in his hand. "I've already made a pot, you see."

Phryne smiled gratefully.

"Yes," she replied. "Yes…I think I'd like that very much."

Together they went into the kitchen, where Mr. Butler began pouring another cup of tea. Phryne sat down at the table and rested her head in her hands.

"I did something horrible to poor Jack, tonight," she sighed eventually.

Mr. Butler brought her the steaming teacup, then hovered respectfully at the other side of the table while Phryne carefully sipped at the tea.

"Being so…disappointed as the good Inspector has been is rather a horrible feeling in the moment," he agreed carefully, "but I have no doubt that Inspector Robinson will survive the ordeal. He won't be the first gentleman to endure such a letdown, nor will he be the last."

Again, Phryne laughed.

"I'm sure he must have been surprised by being dismissed so early," she said. "After all, at least in Jack's eyes I've something of a reputation for following through with my gentleman callers. He thinks I'm quite the shameless floozy, you know."

Taking a slow sip of his tea, Mr. Butler seated himself across from Phryne at the table.

""No," he said placidly, "I don't really believe that he thinks anything of the sort."

Phryne only shrugged.

"In any case," Mr. Butler went on, gazing at Phryne much more sternly than he usually did, "no matter what choices you may have made in the past or what any gentleman may presume to expect, you've never any obligation to 'follow through' with anything that doesn't appeal to you. I'm sure you're already aware of that, but I believe it bears restating nonetheless."

Phryne gave him an affectionate little smile.

"Oh, I know it," she murmured. "Really, I've never been one to let myself feel obligated to do much of anything against my will…but that's just it. Jack doesn't just appeal to me, he fascinates me. For years, I've been working away at him, trying to break through that hard, stoic exterior of his…and now that I have won him over at last, I'm reluctant to give it all up again."

"'Give it all up', Miss?" Mr. Butler frowned. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand."

Phryne made an impatient gesture with one hand, nearly knocking the teacup over in the process.

"We've always had so much fun together, Jack and I," she explained. "Perhaps that's primarilyl because he has played so delectably hard-to-get. It's been a great challenge; all the little games we've played, the anticipation of a next meeting, never knowing for certain just exactly what the other might be thinking, or feeling, or whether or not the other person was dreaming of you at night just as vividly as you were dreaming of them."

Mr. Butler raised an eyebrow.

"That sounds like torture, Miss," he remarked tolerantly.

Phryne shook her head.

"But it isn't, really…not to me," she sighed. "I enjoyed every moment of it…or at least, almost every moment. The chase is so scintillating in itself. I'm sure Jack enjoyed it to, to a certain extent, although he may not be willing to admit it. Now that he and I have found each other at last, which was what I was so certain that I wanted all along, I find that I'm really not so sure anymore that I want the game to end. Once two people have come to an agreement and once they've finally consummated their long-frustrated passions, there aren't any mysteries left to be solved. He'll have had everything I have to offer, and I'll have had him, and then…the magic will be all used up, and everything will soon be over."

She glanced out the window at what had now become the wee hours of the early morning.

"After all," she murmured, perhaps more to herself than to Mr. Butler, "I'm not really ready for it to be over so soon. It feels…somehow terribly empty, thinking of what life will be like without Jack. I've become so very attached to him….probably far moreso than I should have done. When he's gone, I know I'll be lonely; as lonely as I was when he'd decided for a time that he couldn't bear to see me anymore. Only, the difference is that this time, once he's lost interest in me, there won't be any reason to hope that he's coming back. There won't be anything left to draw him back."

Phryne took another sip of her tea, then laid the cup down on the table again and shook her head ruefully, laughing a little to herself.

"I'm terribly sorry," she murmured, shaking her head. "This isn't like me at all. How gloomy this must be for you, Mr. Butler."

Mr. Butler was now frowning thoughtfully at her.

"Not at all," he demurred. "Although…if you don't mind my saying so, Miss Fisher, I think you may be worrying over nothing. I've spent some time around you and Inspector Robinson, and I've seen the way he looks at you."

"Oh?" Phryne raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly does he look at me? Like a starving puppy looks at the last piece of meat in the pantry? I've seen that look in the eyes of plenty of other men."

"Not at all," repeated Mr. Butler, shaking his head. "When Inspector Robinson looks at you, he's a different man. There's a life and an energy in his eyes when he's with you that I've never seen him show to anybody else…not even to Mrs. Sanderson."

Surprised, Phryne wasn't entirely sure what to say.

"Really?" She frowned. "Do you really think so?"

"I'm quite certain of it," replied Mr. Butler placidly. "I know what it's like to feel that way about a woman…like there's no one else in the world who provides you with quite that same spark."

"Mrs. Butler," murmured Phryne.

Mr. Butler inclined his head. "Love," he said, "is not so much of a fragile thing as the poets claim. In my experience, love tends to endure…even after the mystery has long been solved."

For a long, quiet moment, Mr. Butler sat drinking his tea while Phryne stared thoughtfully down at the backs of her own hands against the kitchen tabletop.

"Still," she said eventually, "what if I'm not like him? Perhaps that kind of love has never been in the cards for me…perhaps my temperament just isn't suited for it. I could never be happy with a man the way Dot is happy. I need my freedom, Mr. Butler. The very idea of being trapped by a man's ideas in his carefully closed-off world starves me of my interest. Perhaps when I do grow restless and bored of his affections, as I often do and probably will, I'll only end up breaking his big, deep, fragile heart. That might be worse for both of us than the frustration of not knowing. Perhaps it's better for us to go on just as we are; cat and mouse, pursuer and pursued, delectably uncertain forever; unfettered, unobligated, always daring to hope…just like it's always been between us."

"But you can't go on like that forever," returned Mr. Butler simply. "He's made it clear that he certainly can't…and quite honestly, Miss, I don't believe that you can, either, if the events of this evening are any fair testament."

Having apparently finished his tea, Mr. Butler got up, collected both his and Phryne's empty mugs and returned to the kitchen counter.

"I'm risking hurting a very good man," murmured Phryne.

"Certainly you are," agreed Mr. Butler over his shoulder. "I've always thought you enjoyed taking risks."

Phryne frowned.

"With myself I do, of course," she said, "but taking risks with the lives of other people is another thing entirely…especially when it comes to Jack. I know he'd never dream of taking any risk that might hurt me."

"Very few people," murmured Mr. Butler, "have ever died of a broken heart. Another cup of tea, Miss?"

Phryne yawned and rubbed wearily at her eyes."

"Not just now, thank you, Mr. Butler," she sighed. "Perhaps it would be better if we both went back to bed. I find that I'm suddenly exhausted, and I believe I've played upon your patience for quite long enough."

Phryne stood up and headed for the door, then turned around for a moment, and stopped, smiling at Mr. Butler.

"Thank you for the tea, and for the company," she said and meant it.

Mr. Butler only nodded. "It's my job, Miss."

"No it isn't," retorted Phryne, raising an eyebrow and shooting him a wry little look. "As far as I recall, you're only contractually responsible for the tea."

Mr. Butler smiled.

"You're right, Miss," he said, "it is very late. You'd best be getting some sleep before what will no doubt be an eventful tomorrow. With you, it almost always is."

Phryne snorted a laugh.

"Goodnight, Miss Fisher," said Mr. Butler.

"Goodnight," murmured Phryne before dragging herself up the stairs and into her own room.

Despite her exhaustion, it was still a long time before she managed to fall asleep. He weary mind was full for hours of the events of that evening; the look in Jack's eyes and the things that Mr. Butler had said about the nature of love and risk taking.

By the time she did fall asleep, there was already plenty of burgeoning light outside her window.

Mercifully, Mr. Butler failed to call to wake her for breakfast at the usual time, and while the smells of toast and coffee drifted up from downstairs, Phryne finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 **Author's End Note:** Sorry about the short chapter, but this is where the episode ends, and it didn't seem to make sense for me to tack on anything else, so this one ran short. This was also a very serious, philosophical sort of chapter. Don't worry, we'll be back to having more fun with murder again very soon!

And now, if you'll excuse me, I, too, am off to bed…in preparation for an eventful tomorrow.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Author's Note:** So…I was working on some outlines and notes for this story while riding in to work this morning, and I realized…this might be a very long story. I'm not sure entirely how long – maybe even a two parter. I have a lot of ideas in mind. Might take a while to finish, for better or for worse.

You'll have to let me know immediately if I jump the shark. Friends don't let friends. I'm counting on you all.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

The next morning Jack woke up in the dark. He'd been right in the middle of the blissful nightmare of kissing Phryne Fisher's fingertips in Juliet Capulet's bedroom, while somewhere downstairs Cecil Yates and Albert Johnson dueled noisily with poison-tipped fencing sabers and Mr. Butler placidly recited sonnet number 128, the second sonnet of the dark lady, from his constant station behind the coat rack in the corner.

When he came awake with a start, Jack felt out of place and strange for a moment in his own quiet, empty room, and there was still that sort of lingering misery in his head, leftover in part from the night before, and in part from the bizarrely theatrical dreamscape.

After dragging himself through dressing and breakfast, Jack received the long awaited phone call from Dr. Elizabeth MacMillan, inviting him to come down to the morgue to hear about her findings in regards to the Angie Grace investigation.

All the way to the morgue in his car, Jack felt strangely dull and weary, and even the certain knowledge that Miss Fisher would be waiting, as ever, at the morgue to greet him wasn't enough to draw him out of his mental fog.

Phryne was there, of course, when Jack arrived, wearing some kind of pink and white sheath dress with a little gold hat perched atop her head, as lovely and impeccable as always…but somehow, Jack couldn't help but think that she, too, looked more worn down than usual, maybe even almost as tired as he felt.

 _Perhaps she had other business to attend to after I left last night…other friends coming to call,_ he thought bitterly, hating himself for it.

Phryne was deep in conversation with Dr. MacMillan over the sheet-shrouded corpse of Angie Grace, but they both stopped and turned to face Jack when he entered the room.

"Oh," said the doctor, nodding curtly at him. "Good, you're here. I've found something, and think that you, at least, are going to like it. Looks like this might turn out to be more of a clear-cut case than your usual fare."

"Hello Jack," murmured Phryne, giving him the shadow of a smile.

Ignoring her, Jack gave his full attention to Dr. MacMillan.

"Tell me," he muttered. "What did you find?"

By way of response, the doctor produced a slip of paper from a drawer in her desk and held it out to Jack.

"My report," she informed him as glanced briefly over it. "You were right, Phryne, about the snake venom. There were traces of it in each of the puncture wounds, and the condition of the body indicates a pretty quick death by poison in the bloodstream. The venom itself is from the Inland Taipan, if you want to know, which really isn't much of anything like the fatal asp of Ancient Egypt. That's particularly strange because I've never heard of a case of deadly poisoning by this kind of snake before. Apparently the Taipan is very reclusive and unlikely to attack a human being, which is certainly for the best considering that its venom is thought to be the most potent of any in the animal kingdom."

"Really," murmured Phryne. "What a dramatic distinction for poor Angie; the first ever woman to be mortally wounded by a snake with social anxiety."

"Dr. MacMillan," inquired Jack, "what about the needle that we found in the sofa cushions? Any connection?"

"We?" Phryne raised an eyebrow at him, but Jack didn't rise to the bait.

Nodding, Dr. MacMillan retrieved the needle and offered it to Phryne.

"Tipped with the very same Taipan venom," she said, shrugging. "Once I completed the autopsy, I thought it would be. If I understood correctly, then it took Angie around fifty or so minutes to die after she started feeling ill, isn't that right? That's just about how long it would take for the venom to have its full effect. Whoever killed her did it before she made it into the bathroom, and so this needle seems like your best choice for a murder weapon."

"So, then I was right," said Phryne, frowning. "One of the other women at the rehearsal must have stabbed her in the parlor while we were all there together, but…honestly, not even that makes a great deal of sense. If she was stabbed like that, surely she'd have cried out and one of us would have taken notice. What's more, she seems to have been stabbed in the throat, which is hardly something that any reasonable person would have taken sitting down."

Dr. MacMillan gave Phryne and Jack a grim little smile, then reached over and drew back the white sheet covering up Angie Grace's corpse, revealing an expanse of pale, bloodless thigh.

"Here," said the doctor, gesturing at the leg. "This seems like a more likely place for a mortal wound, doesn't it?"

Leaning in, Jack noticed four tiny puncture marks, very similar to those on the victim's neck, embedded in the flesh of the outer thigh.

"Oh," murmured Phryne. "So, then, the neck wound was only a blind, perhaps…genuinely intended to make us believe in the theory of snakebite."

Dr. MacMillan nodded.

"That theory isn't worth much anymore," she added, shaking her head. "You won't find any Inland Taipans around here. They're Australian, certainly, but they hate urban areas or any kind of human habitation, and they're not native to the Victoria area, at any rate."

"Then where," asked Jack, "would you expect find one?"

The doctor shrugged.

"You wouldn't," she said. "As I've said, they hate humans and avoid them like the plague. They only go after rats and mice, primarily. I suppose there might be one or two of them in the local zoo. I wouldn't know."

"Jack," hissed Phryne excitedly, suddenly clutching at Jack's sleeve with her eyes wide. "Annabelle Foster's son Charlie works at the zoo…and I'm almost certain that he's a keeper in the Reptile House, now that I come to think about it. No doubt if there's any rare snake venom to be had locally, he's the one who'd know where to find it."

Gingerly, Jack detached his arm from Phryne's grip and took a hasty step away from her.

"Indeed," he said levelly, pulling out his notebook. "Perhaps I'd better have both Mrs. Foster and her son brought down to the station, then…to see if they might be able to 'assist us with our inquiries.'"

Phryne's lips parted as though she was going to reply, but then she suddenly stopped, bit her lip, and shot a quick look at the place where she'd gripped at Jack's arm before turning back to the doctor.

"Thank you, Mac," she said. "I do believe you've given us our first lead."

Mac nodded. "Always happy to help in your adventurous crusade for justice, of course."

Somewhere off in another room, there came the sound of a telephone ring.

Oh…excuse me," said MacMillan. "The phone's ringing. I've been waiting for a call form a colleague of mine in Bairnsdale, so I'd better take this. Won't be a moment."

With that she was off, leaving Phryne and Jack alone together in the room with the body.

Jack tried as hard as he could to pay Phryne no attention whatsoever as she turned to face him again.

"Jack," she said quietly, "you look awful. I take it you didn't sleep much either."

Jack just shrugged and said nothing, as there didn't seem to be anything worth saying.

"I'm so sorry," murmured Phryne. "I'm…well, about everything that happened last night. I truly am."

"Don't be," managed Jack stiffly, carefully examining one of the framed certificates on Dr. MacMillan's far wall. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Yes," began Phryne. "I really do. It's only that-!"

"No doubt I'm the one who should be apologizing," he interrupted, trying not to let the bitterness creep back into his voice. "I seem to have misread your signs. I've never been much of a one for intimate subtlety, Miss Fisher, and no doubt you were appalled by the liberties I took. I assure you that I arrived at your residence last night with only the best and most honorable of intentions, and although things may have gotten out of hand, I never-!"

"I know you did," interrupted Phryne hastily. "You always do, Jack. And you're wrong on another point; you didn't misread anything. They weren't liberties…or at least, not unwanted ones. You did nothing wrong. I suppose it's exactly like you said, really. Things seem to have just gotten so terribly out of hand. We lost control of the game…that's all. We let our little fantasies carry us away."

Jack swallowed hard and gazed aggressively down at his shoes.

"Perhaps," he forced himself to say through a set jaw and gritted teeth, "you were disappointed by just how much less impressive the reality was than the fantasy."

"No," whispered Phryne, gently shaking her head. "I won't allow you to think like that. You have never disappointed me…not this time, and not ever before."

She pressed forward again and placed her hand gently on Jacks' arm, and this time he couldn't quite bring himself to shake her off, although he still wouldn't meet her eyes.

"And you, Jack?" Phryne frowned and raised an eyebrow at him. "Were you disappointed by me?"

Curtly, Jack just shook his head.

"No," he said simply. "No, I felt that the moment was…magical."

Phryne smiled sadly at him.

"Yes," she agreed. "So did I."

Uncertain what he was supposed to make of that remark, Jack finally turned and looked her in the eye. Phryne's smile faded on her lips, and she sighed, shaking her head.

"We've got it all wrong, now," she said quietly, "don't we, Jack? We've made a mess of it all, somehow. Somehow we've lost our thread, and the game just isn't very much fun anymore, for either of us. It's far too serious, now, to be very much fun."

"It was never a game to me," retorted Jack under his breath, "and as I've told you before; I've been serious about you for a very long time, now."

"Yes," agreed Phryne, sighing a little to herself. "Yes, I suppose you have."

She removed her hand from his arm, and even though Jack knew he hadn't wanted her to touch him in the first place, he felt the absence when she broke the contact.

"I can't do this anymore," he told her, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Phryne…but I really can't. It's becoming-!"

"-unbearable," finished Phryne for him, no longer making any pretense at smiling. "I know it is. I can see and feel it when we're together. You're not going to leave me again, are you, Jack? You know I couldn't stand it if you did."

"You may have to," muttered Jack. "I don't know. I…suppose I need some time to think about it."

"Time without me," supplied Phryne unhappily. "That's it, isn't it? You mean that you want me to go."

Jack just nodded, not sure he could trust himself to say the words aloud.

Phryne made a frustrated little gesture with one hand, then looked up at him and shook her head firmly.

"Don't leave me again," she half-commanded, half-pleaded in an endearingly determined and desperate sort of way that made Jack's heart throb in his chest. "Don't forget about what we've done together, Jack, and about what we mean to each other…please."

"What we've done together," echoed Jack miserably. "Is that what you're so worried about? Our illustrious career of solving cases together? Never fear, Miss Fisher. The reckless way you live your life will always yield new mysteries to solve…and you don't really need me for that. You're quite astute enough on your own for a career in detection without me, and if you ever desperately need one there will be always be other willing partners in crime. I'm sure of it."

"It's not the mysteries that I'll miss if you go," retorted Phryne. "It's you. I do love a good challenge, Jack, but without you it's all just puzzles. You're what makes the mysteries magical. There will never be another partner like you…and I'm quite sure of THAT."

Jack paused, not quite daring to hope that he'd interpreted that last comment correctly.

"Only," murmured Phryne, suddenly seeming far less confident and self-assured than he'd ever heard her before. "I think that might be the only thing, right now, that I'm really certain of. Jack, I'm really a little lost in all of this. Don't storm off with your wounded pride and make me face this mess all on my own. What kind of a gallant partner in crime would you be, then?"

She smiled ruefully at him, but it was a shaky sort of echo of her usual smile.

Jack sucked in a sharp breath, wishing she'd just come out and say the words that he so desperately wanted to hear.

"Phryne," he began.

Before he had a chance to finish the sentence, however, Dr. MacMillan suddenly emerged from other room with Constable Hugh Collins right on her heels.

"Inspector," exclaimed Hugh, rushing over to Jack. "I'm glad I found you. There's a woman down at the station who's demanding to speak with you; a Ms. Martha White, sir. She, uh, says she'd like to make a statement, but that she'll only talk to you or to Miss Phryne Fisher."

Belatedly, Hugh noticed Phryne's presence and nodded quickly at her.

"Oh, uh, hello Miss," he said. "I assume you'll be joining us, then?"

Phryne and Jack exchanged a quick look.

"Certainly, Hugh," she murmured, shooting him an absent little smile. "How nice of you to invite me. Coming, Jack?"

For once, Jack wasn't particularly delighted to hear that a key witness wanted to make a statement. He would have much preferred to hear the end of whatever Phryne had been starting to say.

"I…" Frustrated, he let out a long, slow breath, and then nodded once. "Yes, of course. Thank you, Doctor MacMillan, as always. We'll be in touch with any new developments."

Phryne was already halfway down the hall by the time Jack and Hugh caught up with her.

"Care to wager, Jack? Or you, Hugh?" Phryne already seemed to be back in her usual high spirits. "I'd bet that Martha White wants to tell you about something she saw on the night of the murder…perhaps something particularly strange about Annabelle Foster's behavior during that evening's rehearsal. The evidence of the rare snake venom does seem to be pointing firmly in that direction, although I'll admit that it's only a theory as of just now. What do you think?"

She looked back at Jack over her shoulder, challenging him with her eyes.

"It…is certainly possible," muttered Jack, stifling his irritation at having let that fragile moment slip away. "I prefer to reserve my judgment until we've heard from the witness."

Phryne just rolled her eyes.

"You're no fun at all," she admonished him. "What about you, Hugh? Interested in a little bet? If you win, I'll tell Dot that I'm out of town for a week and if you're very careful, she'll be all yours with no rivals until my 'return.' A prize worth playing for, I think."

"Ehm, Dottie might not appreciate that sort of thing," said Hugh uncomfortably. "She…doesn't care much for gambling, in general, and I think she'd be even less happy to find out that I'd let you use her as a prize."

Phryne just waved that away with one hand.

"Our Dot," she informed Hugh, shaking her head, "is a much better sport than the both of you put together. Ah, well, don't say that I didn't offer you the chance to work a bit harder on your 'family planning.' Come along, then."

As Phryne stepped through the morgue's double doors and headed off in the direction of her own parked car, Hugh stood for a moment looking startled and a bit scandalized.

"Sir," he said.

Jack just shook his head.

"Don't let her get to you, Collins," he muttered, aware even as he said it of just how horrendously hypocritical a statement it really was.

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

Yes, I did it! Managed to complete the chapter before passing out.

A lot of very important things happen in the next chapter, both in terms of the murder investigation and in terms of Phryne and Jack's relationship…so I think I'm going to sleep on it before writing any more. Would prefer for it to not suck, and my writing does seem to suck less when I've had at least three solid hours of sleep.

Until tomorrow, then!


	10. Chapter Nine

**Author's Note:** I have to pack my entire kitchen today because neither of my beloved housemates have decided to help. :-p Subsequently I have promised myself that for every solid hour I spend packing things away, I can spend a second solid hour writing.

Let's see if that proves to be a good motivator. It will at least produce a few more story updates. Ooh, do you think we can make it all the way to chapter ten? Maybe? Let's try.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Not surprisingly, Phryne beat Jack to the police station by a good ten minutes, and when he did arrive she was sitting on top of his desk, reading through Hugh's reports of the movements of all present at the fatal evening's rehearsal.

"Hello you two," she said as Hugh and Jack walked in. "Aren't you proud of me? I waited for you."

She had expected Jack to growl at her and to order her off of his desk, but instead he walked right up to her, reached around her for a new pencil, and then turned away again, ignoring her completely.

"Miss White is in the interrogation room, sir," said Hugh.

"Very good, Constable," muttered Jack, turning on his heel. "Well then…let's go hear what she has to say."

He strode off towards the investigation rooms with Hugh, leaving Phryne to hop awkwardly off the desk on her own and to hurry to catch up.

In the interrogation room, Martha White was sitting uncomfortably behind the desk, fidgeting anxiously with a large green handbag. She started in her chair when Jack, Hugh, and Phryne came in.

"Oh, Inspector," she murmured. "And…Phryne! You came! Thank goodness. I've been at such a loss for what to do. I do feel that I've done the others and poor lovely Portia such a great dishonesty. I couldn't' sleep last night at all, thinking and thinking about it. When I woke up this morning, I just knew that I had to come in right away and set the matter straight, whatever comes of it."

"Last night," murmured Phryne soothingly, "was something of a sleepless night for us all, I believe."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack glance sharply at her.

"I'm sure you've done the right thing, Martha," she went on. "Angie would be very proud of how brave you're being."

Martha laughed a nervous little laugh, and shook her head once.

"Angie didn't like me," she half-sighed, half-giggled anxiously. "Angie never liked me, much. She always said that I didn't belong on the stage…that I would never have a 'presence' like her or Miss Phryne. She's not wrong, you know. Sometimes, I open my mouth and I find that the words just don't come out. It's not that I don't know the lines; of course I do. It's only that my nerves get the better of me and I feel all shrunken and frightened inside, and the character, as Miss Portia puts it, just vanishes…poof! Sometimes right in the middle of the scene."

"I wouldn't beat yourself up too much about it," muttered Jack, shaking his head. "The stage isn't for everyone. The idea of baring your soul before the crowd...it's more than a little daunting. It freezes me up as well, no matter how familiar I am with the lines."

Hugh laughed. "I can't even remember them," he assured her. "All the pretty speeches go right out of my head when I try to recite anything longer than a few words. Nearly gave myself a heart attack trying to keep two lines together, trying to find a romantic way to propose to my wife. Made a bit of a mess of it, really."

"Somehow, murmured Phryne, "I don't think Dot particularly minded."

Hugh gave her a grateful smile.

"And what's more," she went on, turning her attention back to Martha and shaking her head, "I don't believe that Angie's right about you at all, Martha. It's true that you may not possess the power and poise of an English King or Queen, but you're one of the hardest workers that I've personally ever met…unless you count Jack, here."

Phryne paused for a moment, but Jack made no sign that he'd registered the compliment.

"You don't only know your own lines when you're working on a play," Phryne continued. "You know everyone else's lines as well. You're always on time and usually early, and Annabelle says you usually manage to attract more friends, family and well-wishers to the show than any other two performers combined. You're an incredibly valuable asset to the VWTT, and if Angie doesn't know it then it's only because she's always been too self-centered to focus on anything but her own talent."

Martha swallowed and flushed a bit, but she did look pleased.

"Thank you, Phryne," she murmured. "You're a nice woman. I knew that I was doing the right thing, coming to you. You'll be able to tell me if I've made a terrible mistake or not."

Phryne only nodded.

"Please," began Jack, clearing his throat. "You told Constable Collins that there was a statement you wanted to make, Miss White. Perhaps it was something that you remembered about the evening of Miss Grace's murder?"

Taking a quick little breath, Martha straightened herself up and nodded.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I did remember something…or rather, I just didn't know how to say it at the time, surrounded by all those other ladies."

Hugh pulled out his notebook and made a quick heading.

"Portia," continued Martha carefully, "or, that is, Miss Munroe…well, she told you that not a single person left the room from the time when we found poor Angie's body to the moment when you both arrived."

"Yes," agreed Jack. "She did."

"Well," insisted Martha, shooting a quick, uncertain look at Phryne, "you see, that's not entirely true. I…well, I left, Inspector, to fetch some cold water from the kitchen, since Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen were out."

Phryne, Jack and Hugh all waited, but Martha didn't seem to have anything more to say.

"And…that's your statement?" Hugh looked frankly disappointed. "That's…what you wanted to tell us, Miss White?"

Martha nodded. "Yes," she said. "I hope it's nothing too serious. I didn't…I didn't DO anything while I was out of the room, naturally. It's only that I'd fainted when we found Angie in the bathroom, and I was still feeling rather weak, so I wanted something to drink. Actually my throat had been feeling rather dry all evening, possibly because of all the recitation, and so I'd even taken the car out a little bit earlier that night to fetch myself some of my special throat tonic from my own home, which isn't too terribly far away. My doctor claims that the tonic does wonders for women with dry throats like mine, but honestly I've never found that-!"

"Miss White," interrupted Jack, frowning. "When you left the room that evening to get your glass of water from the kitchen, was Miss Grace already dead?"

Martha nodded miserably.

"Oh yes," she murmured sadly. "Oh yes, absolutely. I'm quite sure of that. Perhaps that's part of what set me off. I just needed a moment out of that horrible room…a moment to myself. My head was reeling so, you see."

She looked expectantly up at Phryne, who sighed and did her best not to look disappointed.

"Miss White," repeated Jack, shaking his head. "Although I absolutely applaud your desire to be entirely truthful with all aspects of this matter, I can assure you that you've done no harm whatsoever by failing to mention this earlier. If Miss Grace's death occurred before you left the room, then your absence after the fact can have had no bearing whatsoever on her murder."

Martha smiled with relief.

"That's wonderful to hear, Inspector," she breathed. "I'm so relieved. What an ordeal I've been through these past few hours, waiting and wondering if perhaps I'd done horribly wrong and if I'd somehow allowed a murderer to get away. You've really eased my mind, Inspector…and you too, Phryne. Thank you ever so much."

As Hugh helped Martha on her with her coat and escorted her back through the interrogation room door, Jack stood and stared contemplatively down at the desktop.

"Well," sighed Phryne, "I'll readily admit that Martha's testimony did not turn out to yield all the brilliant rewards that I'd hoped for. Perhaps it's best that we didn't wager after all. How terribly disappointing…and we're back absolutely where we started, now, aren't we? At least we still have the evidence of the snake venom. Perhaps the local zoo should be the next destination on our investigative tour."

"Phryne," said Jack quietly. "I need to talk to you."

Phryne looked up into his eyes and saw that familiarly brooding, intense look on his face; the same look that had been in his eyes when he'd kissed her for the first time.

"Not here," she said, shaking her head. "We're in the middle of an investigation. This is hardly the right place or time."

"Yes," agreed Jack, looking frustrated, "but-!"

"Come by the house tonight," Phryne suggested. "Don't worry; you'll be safe from any more indiscretions. I solemnly promise not to touch you."

She smiled sadly up at him, and this time he visibly winced.

"Tonight, then," he muttered.

"Will you come?" Phryne sighed. "You will, won't you? It'll be an excuse, at least, to see you one last time before you abandon me forever."

Jack swallowed, gazed at her for a long moment, and then nodded once.

"I'll come," he managed.

"Oh good," murmured Phryne. "How nice of you to humor me, Jack. I'll be expecting you."

* * *

 **Author's End Note:** This chapter is a bit short, because when I originally wrote it, it was over 4000 words long. I decided to break it up into two chapters instead, and so you'll find the continuation of this chapter in Chapter Ten…which I'll be posting in about ten minutes.

Double-header, today!

All right, now it's time to label the kitchen boxes.

Please leave mea review to distract me from packing misery.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

Late that night, as promised, Phryne sat up in the drawing room listening for the sound of Jack's car coming up the road.

It had been a long disheartening day of making various fruitless inquiries around town; at the home of Angie Grace's ex-husband, Gerald, and at the dinner theater where Angie had once worked as a hostess while waiting, in vain, for her "big break."

Having turned up no useful information whatsoever about Angie's movements, her friends or her enemies, Jack and Phryne had eventually gone their separate ways around dinner time, and Phryne hadn't seen him since.

 _He will come,_ she told herself.  _I'm certain that he will. After all, judging by the way he refused to look at me throughout most of the afternoon, there are some rather painful final goodbyes to be said. I suppose I should be relieved that he's giving me that much._

It was already after ten o'clock, and Phryne was in the kitchen making herself a pot of tea when she heard a loud double knock on the front door. Nearly dumping the teapot down on the counter in her haste to answer the door, she discarded the tea things and went to greet her visitor.

Jack was standing outside on the front step, but Phryne realized almost immediately upon catching his eye that something was very wrong. His eyes were wild and his tie was slightly askew, and as he stepped through into the foyer he stumbled a little bit and had to catch himself against the door jamb to keep from falling.

"Jack," murmured Phryne, genuinely shocked. "You're drunk."

"False," muttered Jack, shaking his head and struggling to remove his coat. "I deny the charges. It was only a bit of liquid courage."

"And," added Phryne, "you drove here…in your own car. Jack, what's the matter with you? You've never in your life driven drunk before, I'm sure of it."

"That's right," agreed Jack. "It's against the law. I'm not sure you're familiar with the fact, but there are laws for motor vehicle operation."

Phryne rolled her eyes.

"I'm hardly one to preach to you about following traffic laws," muttered Phryne, shaking her head, "but you certainly don't look fit to be operating a car. I'm surprised at you. I'd never have pegged you as the sort of man to take that kind of a risk with your own wellbeing."

"You take the risk all the time," retorted Jack.

"Yes," agreed Phryne, starting to get irritated with him. "With my life, but not with yours. It's…well, it's frankly embarrassing, seeing you like this, mostly because of how ashamed of yourself I know that you're going to be in the morning."

"Tell me that you're worried about me," demanded Jack.

Phryne snorted a mirthless little laugh. "Of course I'm worried about you. Look at you; you're a mess!"

"If I crashed my car on the road tonight, on the way home," he insisted, "you'd be devastated, would you? Assure me that you'd be devastated."

He looked into her eyes, and even through the alcoholic haze Phryne could see the depth of feeling.

"I'd be devastated," she said quietly. "Is that what this is about, Jack? Trying to get back at me for what you'd consider my multiple driving indiscretions?"

"Now you know how I feel," he muttered.

Phryne let out a quick, annoyed breath and threw up her hands in defeat.

"Yes," she told him. "I presume you feel terrible…and possibly nauseous. You're not going home tonight in any case; you're staying here, for your own sake. I'll make up the guest bed for you, and I'll find you some pajamas, if you think you can manage put them them on by yourself."

"You're angry," observed Jack.

Phryne shook her head.

"No," he insisted, "you are. Why? Why be angry at me? I'm not the first drunk man you've had in this house. You've had plenty of intoxicated 'friends,' and it's never seemed to bother you before. How is it that everyone else is permitted an indiscretion, while I-?"

"Because you're not everyone else," whispered Phryne, doing her best to keep her temper in check. "Because it's sad to watch you like this, especially when I know how much you'd hate it if you could see yourself…and because I know that it's partially my fault."

That seemed to surprise Jack, who stopped for a moment with his mouth slightly open, watching her.

"…I'm sorry," he mumbled after a long silence. "I'm behaving terribly. I've…you're right. You're right, Phryne, I've lost control. Please forgive me. This isn't the way I wanted this to happen."

Without thinking, Phryne reached out to lay a comforting hand on his arm. At the last minute she realized her mistake and pulled her hand back again, watching the pained look in Jack's eyes as she did.

"It's all right," she assured him gently. "We all go a bit overboard from time to time. There's nothing to forgive."

Jack just gazed miserably down at his own hands and said nothing.

"Come on," she suggested, starting towards the stairs. "Let's get you to bed. You'll feel better in the morning, and then we can-!"

"No." Unexpectedly, Jack reached out and grasped Phryne by the wrist, turning her back to face him. "No…I came here to talk to you. There are things I have to say."

"Not now, Jack," she insisted, gently pulling her arm away. "You're in no state-!"

"Yes," he said, a bit more loudly than was probably necessary. "Now, Phryne. For once in your life, please, just listen to me seriously and quietly for a few minutes…and then I'll go to bed, if that's what you really want."

Realizing that there wasn't any point in arguing with him, Phryne took a deep breath and settled herself down on the top step, folding her hands in her lap and looking up at Jack, not entirely sure what she should be expecting at this point.

"Very well," she said. "I'm listening. What is it?"

Jack took a breath, then rubbed wearily at his right temple for a moment, swallowing hard and turning slightly to rest his eyes on the wall, presumably so that he wouldn't have to watch the look on Phryne's face.

"I…I've said it before," he began, "but I'm a serious man, Phryne Fisher. I've never toyed with you intentionally…not for a moment. I've meant every single damn thing I've said to you; and I want you to know that when I say this, it deserves to be taken as seriously as it's intended."

Phryne's heart caught in her throat.

"I care for you," he said under his breath, forcing the words out. "I care for you desperately, entirely against my will, and I have for a long time. There's no point in denying it any longer or pretending that I can keep going on as though it's all just a clever flirtation. I can't. I won't. It's become far too painful to keep playing along."

Phryne bit her lip.

"I never meant to hurt you, Jack," she began. "I only-!"

"Don't," interrupted Jack angrily. "Don't tell me that it 'all just got out of hand.' I…I want to believe, Phryne, that you care for me. I think you do. After last night, and what you said this morning, I…I need to know. Please, tell me there's a reason for me to keep hoping. Otherwise I'll…honestly, I'll probably go insane, assuming I haven't done so already, which is a debatable matter."

He stopped and looked expectantly at Phryne, and she found that now she couldn't meet his eyes.

"You're not giving me much of an option, Jack," she said quietly. "Either I fulfill your hopes or I let you go insane? What kind of a choice is that to offer someone?"

"Phryne," insisted Jack. "You must tell me. If I'm all wrong, if I've nothing left to hope for, then I need to know. After everything we've been through together, you owe me that much."

"I do," whispered Phryne.

"What?" Jack took a step closer to her. "You do…what? You do owe me, or you-?"

"Yes," said Phryne, a bit louder this time. "Yes, Jack, I care for you. I care for you so very much…far more than I ever intended."

Jack stopped in his tracks, looking slightly incredulous. Then, very slowly, he started to smile, and for the first time Phryne saw exactly what Mr. Butler meant about the life and energy in Jack's eyes.

"Phryne," he said, far more tenderly than Phryne thought she could bear.

"It doesn't matter," she told him firmly. "Jack, you know that I could never be the woman you want me to be. It's not who I am…and that will never change, no matter how much we may or may not feel for one another."

"You're exactly the woman I want you to be," retorted Jack. "You're alive and full of…amazing, infuriating fire. You're an independent spirit with a mind of your own, and that, Phryne Fisher, that is what sets you apart from every other woman I've ever met. I'd never, ever want to change that about you. I'm not Hugh Collins. I don't need a docile little wife to sit at home and clean up after me, and to give me obedient children until she's old and gray. I've met my match, and I'll admit it. It's incredibly frightening, and I want you, exactly the way you are. I wouldn't…no, I couldn't have it any other way."

"I could never settle down, Jack," Phryne reminded him. "I'd never be happy without my freedom to go where I like and to do as I like. I'm not a wife for any man."

"Then don't be," retorted Jack. "Live where you want and go where you want. Throw all the parties your heart desires; travel to foreign countries at the drop of a hat and leave me pining in the dust behind you. Laugh in the face of danger as you've always done. I told you once before, Phryne, that I'd never ask you to change your life for me. I'll never clip your wings. The idea of hurting you or taking anything that you love away from you is horrible to me…and it always will be."

He was nearly pleading with her now. That almost begging look in the eyes of the usually careful, firm, stoic police Inspector was miserable to see, and it made Phryne's heart ache.

"There's only one thing," Jack went on, "that I will ever ask of you."

"Oh?" Phryne tried to smile, and found that she couldn't. "And what's that?"

"I know that you'll never belong to me," he said, a bit more quietly. "You're your own woman…you belong only to yourself. Just promise me that you won't allow yourself to belong to anyone else. No more 'reminiscing' with attractive male companions. No more 'indiscretions' with other men."

"Jack," began Phryne, but he ignored her.

"Give me a chance to prove to you," he insisted, "that I can be enough for you. If you can find it in your heart to give me that, then I can promise you that I'll never give you cause to regret it."

"You can't make that promise," whispered Phryne. "No one can."

"I do make it," returned Jack. "Nothing could be more important to me, Phryne. Nothing."

For a long, terribly tense moment, Phryne and Jack stared at each other, Phryne's heart pounding frantically in her chest as she tried and failed to tear her gaze away from the passion in Jack's eyes.

"It will never work," she said eventually, waving helplessly with one hand. "I'm flighty, Jack, and I'm easily bored. No matter how happy you make me and no matter how much I might care for you, one day I'll wake up and I'll find that I no longer love you the way you love me. Then I'll have to go."

"Then you'll go," replied Jack. "I ask for no commitment; no legal arrangements. You have your freedom and you can give up on me any time you like with no repercussions. I won't try to stop you."

"Then," began Phryne, "what are you-?"

"But," finished Jack, "I think you could be wrong. I think you might be more able to love me than you realize. We'll call it an experiment, if you like. An investigation into the heart of Miss Phryne Fisher. Our last little adventure, perhaps. What do you say?"

He gave her a horrible, forced sort of smile, and Phryne felt that she really couldn't stand this any longer. He was so miserable and so desperate that it made her almost feel like crying, and his legs were now beginning to sway beneath him under the weight of the alcohol and the nervous emotional ordeal.

"Please," he whispered. "At least think about what I'm asking you."

"I will think about it," she promised him, getting slowly to her feet. "I will, Jack, but…not right now. No more, right now. You're working yourself up terribly. I think you need to lie down."

"You will think about it," he insisted.

"I promise," she assured him.

Jack nodded, shut his eyes for a moment, and then took another step forward, wobbling slightly on his feet as he did so.

Phryne was at his side in an instant with her arm around his waist.

"You promised that you wouldn't touch me," he reminded her wearily as she led him carefully towards the stairs.

"I think," said Phryne, "that we're rather past that at this point, don't you?"

It took her some time to get Jack up the stairs and into the guest bed. He insisted upon changing himself, and for a while Phryne stood outside the bedroom door, listening to the sounds of him muttering to himself as he presumably fumbled with the clasps on the borrowed nightclothes.

After a time, the noises ceased, and the room fell silent again.

"Jack," called out Phryne, but she got no response. "Jack, are you all right?"

Very quietly, she pulled the bedroom door open and glanced in.

Jack was laid out on the bed with his face pressed into the pillow, apparently asleep.

Being careful not to wake him in the process, Phryne gently rearranged the coverlet over him, then gathered up his rumpled clothes and hung them on the door for Mr. Butler to attend to in the morning.

Phryne herself didn't bother going to sleep after that.

Instead, she sat alone in the drawing room for a long time with the Antony and Cleopatra script in her lap, thinking about the kind of people who'd sacrifice everything for love, and wondering about the nature of truth in fiction.

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

So I feel pretty strongly about that chapter. What do you think?


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Author's Note:** Welp, its one o'clock in the morning. Again, please forgive any typos…because there will be plenty. The world is one big messy blur just at the moment.

If you've been following the harrowing tale of Ari Moriarty vs. The Great Packing Disaster, you'll be pleased to know that I finished packing two rooms and three walk-in closets this afternoon, which gets me several steps closer to the end…I hope.

The end of this story, however, isn't quite in our sights, yet.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

The next morning, Jack woke up from a mercifully dreamless sleep, only to discover as soon as he opened his eyes that his ears were ringing like Dr. MacMillan's telephone, and that the world around him didn't seem to want to stay still.

While he spent a moment gazing blearily around at someone else's blurry, vaguely familiar bedroom, Jack did the best he could to put his police detective skills to work.

 _This is not,_ he told himself,  _where I woke up yesterday. Subsequently, we can assume that either I have recently become uncharacteristically free with my late-night company, or that this is not, in fact, my bedroom. Where am I? How did I get-?_

All of a sudden, the fog in Jack's head began to clear and the memories of last night hit him like a ton of unbelievable bricks.

Jacks' eyes went wide as his traitorous memory replayed a few of the fantastic things that he'd said to Phryne the night before, using her doorway to keep himself upright as he poured out a remarkable number of wildly-worded emotions at the alarming rate of a desperate drunk.

"Good lord," he said aloud. "Please tell me that I'm remembering that wrong."

"I'm afraid not, Jack," remarked Phryne Fisher, sweeping into the room with a tea tray in her hands. "Judging by the appalled look on your face, I can only assume that you're remembering things exactly as they happened."

Setting the tray down on the table beside the bed, she gave him a rueful little smile.

"Good morning," she said. "I trust you got some well-needed rest. I suppose that's the one good thing about being in a hopelessly drunken stupor; at least the drink tends to help you sleep through the night."

"Um," said Jack, his mind racing. "I have…absolutely no idea what to say."

"You didn't seem to have that problem last night," retorted Phryne.

Jack sighed, fighting off the very strong and unmanly urge to crawl back under the covers and hide.

"You kept your promise, at least," continued Phryne conversationally while Jack struggled to get his bearings. "You did assure me only yesterday that if I liked, you'd recite for me some modern lines that I'd never heard before. Last night you certainly delivered."

"If I recall correctly," mumbled Jack, "what I had promised you was a recitation of some contemporary poetry, not the drunken rant of a lovesick fool."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Jack," murmured Phryne, selecting a piece of toast thoughtfully from the tray. "I rather thought that your little speech last night featured some remarkably poetic moments."

Jack watched her for a moment, perversely fascinated by the way the muscles in her cheek moved as she chewed a bite of toast.

"However," said Phryne when she'd finished her morsel, "if you'd like, Jack, then I think I can afford to be magnanimous. I'll give you this one opportunity to take any and all of it back."

Jack took a deep breath, then shook his head.

"I may be ashamed of the way I delivered my heart to you," he said quietly, "but I don't think I need to tell you that I won't be taking back any of what I said last night. I meant every word of it."

For a moment, the smile flickered on Phryne's face.

"I see," she whispered. "I suppose I did expect that."

Jack gave her a curt little nod.

"I won't ask you to give me your answer just yet," he said, straightening up in bed and reaching for a cup of tea. "Actually, I think I'd rather you waited. Take your time. Think about it for a few days."

"Are you sure," asked Phryne, with only a hint of her usual teasing manner, "that you won't waste away with anxious pining in the meantime?"

Jack shrugged.

"I haven't yet," he said. "A few more days probably isn't going to kill me. I think I'd much rather that you wait until you're really sure before you decide to let me down easy."

"Prolonging the inevitable, are we?" Phryne was making an alarmingly sympathetic face, and Jack wasn't sure he liked the look of that at all.

"Maybe so," he muttered, "but what choice do I have?"

Before she could give him a pitying reply that would make him feel even worse, Jack swung his legs over the edge of the bed, yawned, and stood up.

He then immediately sat back down again, the world around him now swimming much more aggressively than it had when he'd been prone in bed.

"On second thought," he muttered, wincing, "I do not think that I am quite yet ready to face the harsh light of day."

"Here," suggested Phryne, offering a glass of water and a piece of toast. "These might help with the hangover at least."

Jack reached for the glass, and when he did so his fingers brushed against Phryne's. Instantly, his heart rate reacted to the unexpected contact, and Phryne carefully rearranged her fingers on the glass so as to be further from harm's way.

Jack blew out a short breath.

"I have a feeling," he said, more to himself than to Phryne, "that this is going to be a very long day."

Shoving a piece of toast in his mouth, he shut his eyes for a moment against the bright bedroom light and sighed.

"Jack," began Phryne gently.

"Please don't," mumbled Jack, shaking his head. "The very last thing that I need at this moment is an overabundance of sympathy. It will only make me feel like more of a fool."

Phryne said nothing in response, and just as Jack was about to open his eyes he felt the soft press of her lips ever so briefly against his hairline.

"What?" Slightly stunned, he opened his eyes and stared. Phryne was already settling back in her chair by the bedside and reaching for her teacup.

"You," Jack accused her, his heart doing dizzying somersaults again, "are doing this on purpose. Don't."

"Not at all," Phryne protested innocently. "It was only a sudden affectionate urge that I had, and you know that I rarely refuse my urges."

"Take your urges," mumbled Jack, "and get out of my bedroom."

"Your bedroom?" Phryne raised an eyebrow. "I'll have you remember, Jack Robinson, that you are currently enjoying my hospitality."

"Out," Jack demanded, sucking in a sharp breath. "Now, please, unless you'd like a repeat episode of what we went through last evening."

Rolling her eyes at him, Phryne got up and turned on her heel.

"Hugh Collins is downstairs," she called over her shoulder on her way out of the room.

"What?" Jack blinked. "And when exactly were you planning on telling me that?"

"He and Dot are having breakfast with Mr. Butler in the kitchen," she explained, ignoring Jack's question. "I suggest you make yourself presentable if you don't want everyone in the house to get some deliciously wrong ideas about how you spent last evening."

After Phryne had left, Jack collapsed back onto the bed for a moment, waiting for his pulse to calm down and wondering how on Earth he was going to explain this to his senior constable.

 _I suppose,_ he thought idly, glancing over at the bedroom wall,  _that if I'd really rather not meet him here, there is always the window._

* * *

Twenty minutes later, washed and fully dressed in a suit that smelled suspiciously of whisky, Jack joined the rest of the party in the kitchen.

"Ah," said Phryne, looking up from her coffee as he strode in. "Morning, Jack. So nice of you to join us. Coffee?"

"Yes," mumbled Jack, clearing his throat and hurriedly taking the chair next to Dorothy at the end of the table. "Thank you. Coffee sounds like exactly the thing. My head is still pounding."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack caught the sharp, startled look that Dorothy shot Phryne over a plate of buttered scones.

Phryne just shook her head and laughed.

"Don't judge me too harshly, Dot," she said, while Mr. Butler got up and walked around the table to pour Jack's coffee. "I'm afraid it's not really as scandalous as all that. Jack was good enough to come by last night to help me with some tricky memorization in Act Three, Scene Three of the play."

"Oh," murmured Dorothy. "Yes…the messenger scene. There is a lot of back and forth in that one, isn't there?"

"There certainly is," agreed Phryne. "I'm afraid that the practice took a little longer than either of us had anticipated, however, and by the time we'd finally finished the scene, we'd both had a few too many to drink. Inspector Robinson, as you well know, is a stickler for following the traffic laws, and so naturally it would have been impossible for him to drive home in his slightly inebriated condition. Subsequently, he spent the night upstairs…in the guest room."

"O-of course, Miss," stammered Dorothy. "Really, I hadn't thought-!"

"Hadn't you?" Phryne shook her head in mock disappointment. "And why not, may I ask? I really don't think you're giving me enough credit. I'm sure that if I'd put my mind to it, then even the good Inspector might have-!"

"W-well, Collins," interrupted Jack hurriedly. "Any news on the Grace investigation?"

"Yes sir," replied Hugh. "Um, I'm afraid it's all bad news, though. I inquired this morning at the local zoo, as you instructed. Turns out that they haven't kept an Inland Taipan there for over a year, now. The one they used to have was a bit too reclusive…it never came out for the visitor's to see, and so it couldn't draw a crowd. They never bothered replacing it when it died."

"Damn," whispered Phryne. "There's another trail run cold."

"I see." Jack frowned contemplatively into his coffee cup. "If not at the zoo, Collins, then where on earth would one find a rare, reclusive snake that hides from human contact? I don't suppose that snake venom is something you could purchase over the counter."

"Not likely," replied Phryne, shaking her head. "I know that the venom from some snakes is distilled or diluted to serve as an ingredient in various medications, but Mac was very clear on the fact that this particular snake is so venomous as to be dangerous even in very small doses. Any sale of its poison would undoubtedly be highly illegal, and subsequently very difficult to engineer."

"Which makes it," finished Jack, "a very strange choice for a murder weapon."

Phryne's eyes shone.

"A truly untraceable poison," she murmured excitedly, "Almost like something out of the fantastically implausible world of detective fiction. This is a real career milestone for us, Jack; a series of events so bizarre that it belongs in a book."

"And Dr. MacMillan," Jack reminded her ruefully, "said that she thought this might be one of our easier cases." He shook his head. "As for your detective story, I suggest that you allow Mrs. Dorothy Collins to serve as your faithful chronicler. She's much more likely to paint us both in a flattering light."

"Um…Miss Phryne." Dorothy held up a hand. "What about Serpent Sally's Sideshow? Those people might know something about where to come by a rare snake poison. They might even have a few on hand...uh, inside the snakes, of course."

"Oh." Phryne looked surprised. "Do you know, I'd completely forgotten about them. Well done, Dot!"

Jack frowned. "Serpent Sally's Sideshow?"

"Oh, Serpent Sally's Sideshow," Dorothy informed him, "is a traveling carnival act run by…um, well, Serpent Sally, Inspector. It's been running for years and years, now, as I understand. Miss Phryne and I first met Miss Sally when she lost her Burmese Python a few months ago. We…we found it," she said, shuddering a little and swallowing hard, "sunning itself in the front seat of Miss Phryne's motorcar, as a matter of fact. Gave me quite a scare, I can tell you."

"Serpent Sally's performers," added Phryne, "are all snake charmers, Jack, and they're best known for their use of rare or exotic animals."

"Or at least," said Dorothy thoughtfully, "they say that their animals are exotic. I imagine that the average carnival goer really wouldn't know the difference, so it's always possible that the animals are…well, not as exotic as we're meant to suppose."

"Brown bears painted with spectacle spots, you mean," said Phryne, "and grass snakes dotted with adder markings. It's possible, surely, but at least it's worth a try. There's nothing to be lost by going and asking Sally if it just so happens that she or someone in her show owns an Inland Taipan."

Dorothy did not look particularly happy to hear that.

"But Miss," she insisted, "you promised me after the last time that I'd never have to back there again. Ugh…those things do give me the horrors, and I don't care who knows it."

Phryne gave Dot an affectionate little smile.

"Dot the Fearless Spider Killer," she said, "afraid of a few measly snakes?"

"It's a perfectly rational fear, Miss," retorted Dorothy. "I think the death of poor Miss Grace certainly proves that. Statistics show that you are much more likely to die from a snakebite than from a spiderbite."

"Well," replied Phryne, "you certainly don't have to come along if you don't want to."

"That's right, Dottie," agreed Hugh. "You're not a detective anymore, remember? Why not leave the messy business with, uh, highly venomous snakes up to the real investigators? You needn't get involved with anything of the kind."

"Oh dear," murmured Phryne.

 _That,_ reflected Jack, watching the affronted look on Dorothy's face,  _could certainly have been better phrased._

Dorothy, drawing herself up to her full height in the chair, turned and looked her husband squarely in the eye.

"I don't believe I ever said that I didn't want to go," she told him in no uncertain terms. "As a matter of fact, I think it's probably best that I do go with you, Miss. After all, you might need me."

"I've no doubt that I will, Dot," Phryne assured her.

"What? Why?" Hugh gave Phryne an exasperated look. "Don't you think you're being a little unfair, Miss Fisher? Dottie's terrified of snakes; always has been. What could you possibly end up needing her for?"

"Well," said Phryne carefully. "As you've so astutely pointed out, Hugh, Dot isn't an official detective of any sort."

"That's right," agreed Hugh. "So obviously-!"

"And," continued Phryne, "it has always been my experience that people feel significantly more comfortable talking to someone who isn't  _obviously_ official. The unofficial bystander, like your clever, sensible young wife, is more likely to attract confidences, and that is one of the many reasons why I consider Dot an asset to any and all of my investigations."

Hugh opened his mouth to protest, then apparently thought better of it and shut it again.

"Sir," he began, looking hopefully at Jack.

"I'm sorry, Constable," muttered Jack, shaking his head, "but Miss Fisher has a point. What's more, I'd be a hypocrite if I allowed Miss Fisher to accompany us and yet attempted to discourage Mrs. Collins."

Dorothy, shooting a triumphant look at Hugh, began purposefully collecting her dishes.

"Thank you, Inspector," she said, smiling brightly at Jack.

Jack was very aware that Phryne was smiling approvingly at him as well. The only person at the table, in fact, who did not seem at all delighted was Hugh.

"Well then," said Dorothy, getting to her feet. "If you'll excuse me, Miss, I'll just go and start the washing up."

"Dottie," sighed Hugh. "You' don't have to-!"

"It would be," said Dorothy, just a little bit too loudly, "my  _pleasure,_  Miss."

With that, Dorothy snatched the coffee pot from in front of Jack, filled up both his and Phryne's coffee mugs with a flourish, then slammed the pot back down on to the table and strode determinedly off into the other room.

"Mr. Butler," said Phryne quietly.

"Yes, Miss," agreed Mr. Butler, standing up from the table and nodding at Jack and Hugh. "I'll just go and see if I can be of any assistance. I beg your pardon, gentlemen."

"Thank you," sighed Phryne. "If you wouldn't mind, please let Dot know that we'll be leaving shortly after breakfast. If she's interested in borrowing something a little more suited to motoring, she's welcome to any of the hats from the bedroom closet."

"Very good, Miss. I'll be sure to let her know," replied Mr. Butler serenely.

While Mr. Butler wandered off to look for Dorothy, Hugh groaned under his breath and buried his face in his hands.

"Marriage to the modern woman," he mumbled dejectedly, "is significantly more complicated than it's typically given credit for, sir."

Phryne snorted a derisive little laugh.

"You've no one to blame but yourself for that little episode, Hugh Collins," she informed him. "What on earth has gotten into you lately? What's wrong with letting Dot have a little bit of fun now and again? Don't forget that if it hadn't been for our joint efforts at detective work, you'd never even have met her."

"I know it, Miss," sighed Hugh, shaking his head. "It's only that…ah, nevermind. I'll just, uh, go along and see if I can find her, shall I?"

Hugh followed Mr. Butler out of the room, leaving Jack and Phryne alone at the table.

"There seems," remarked Phryne, "to be trouble in paradise."

"The course of true love never did run smooth," countered Jack, shrugging. "Hugh and Dorothy are two very different people living in two very different worlds. It may take some considerable time before they're able to come to any kind of lasting understanding."

"It certainly seems that way," murmured Phryne. "Oh, I do know that he cares for her as deeply as a man can care, but sometimes I'd really like to smack Hugh around a little bit for being such a stubborn, pigheaded ass. What's wrong with Dot wanting to do her own detective work? A truly supportive husband wouldn't be so discouraging of his wife's interests."

Jack drained the last of his coffee, then put the mug down and took a deep breath.

"I think my head has finally stopped spinning," he announced.

"People don't really change, in the end," mused Phryne to herself, tapping her fingers absently against the side of her cup. "Hugh never really changed for Dot, just as she could never change for him. Perhaps they're not as well suited to each other as they first supposed."

"I don't agree," retorted Jack. "Hugh's a good man, and Dorothy's an excellent girl. Give it a little bit of time, and they'll find a way to sort out the important things. I'm certain of it."

"You think so?" Phryne frowned. "Do you really believe, Jack, that two people with such different minds and hearts can come to any sort of a harmonious understanding?"

Jack nodded.

"I do," he said simply. "If they decide that it matters to them enough, then yes. It's amazing, really, what two people can do once they've set their minds to it. I can think of one particular set of partners in crime who stand as an excellent testament to that truth."

Phryne paused for a moment over her coffee to give him a very long, searching sort of look.

"Well," she said eventually, shaking her head, "I do hope you're right, for Dot's sake. If there's anyone who deserves that happy fairytale future, then it's Dorothy Collins."

Jack made a wry face.

"After so much time spent with you," he told Phryne, "Mrs. Collins no longer seems to be kind of woman suited to the fairytale setting. She appears to have entirely discarded the persona of the damsel in distress."

Phryne laughed.

"I absolutely agree, Jack," she said. "The ladies of the Fisher household are hardly helpless princesses waiting in the tower to be saved. I'd say that we're more suited to the role of the fire-breathing dragons."

Jack hid a smile.

"Where exactly," he asked, "does that leave those of us who have been assigned the role of 'knights in shining armor?'"

Phryne's eyes flashed.

"Best keep your distance," she whispered teasingly, "or you'll risk being badly burned."

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

I have just finished washing every single dish in my entire house.

Bedtime. See you tomorrow!


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Author's Note:** Most of the packing is done. Go me! I had a very frustrating Hugh and Dot moment last night, too, with my own partner, just as I was posting the last chapter around two o'clock in the morning. Now I'm annoyed, and I have every intention of channeling that annoyance into another half-decent chapter, I hope.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

Some short time later, Phryne and Dorothy climbed into the Hispano-Suiza and prepared for the drive to the carnival grounds.

"Perhaps," suggested Dorothy, tightly securing her borrowed hat to her head, "we should give Hugh and the Inspector a few minutes head start, Miss?"

Phryne snorted a laugh.

"Where," she asked, "is the fun in that, Dot? I think that, especially considering the topic of conversation at breakfast this morning, we should go ahead and leave our official gentleman escorts in the dust. It will serve them right for suggesting that we don't belong at the crime scene in the first place."

"No one suggested that you didn't belong,' mumbled Dorothy, annoyed. "Actually, it was only Hugh who had a problem with my attending. Inspector Robinson didn't seem to object."

Smiling to herself, Phryne settled back into her seat and adjusted her belt.

"Yes," she said aloud. "I suppose Jack does have at least a few endearing qualities, even if he is a little stuffy and over-officious at times. His appreciation of the freedoms of the modern woman is certainly refreshing."

She went to turn the key in the ignition, but then suddenly yawned hugely and had to stop and catch her breath.

"Miss." Dorothy frowned. "Is everything all right? You look exhausted."

"I…suppose I am a little tired," murmured Phryne. "I had a rather trying evening, I'm afraid. I haven't slept."

Dorothy's eyes widened in alarm.

"You…haven't slept?" She swallowed nervously and glanced over her shoulder at Jack and Hugh's car. "Are you sure, Miss, that you should be driving, then? Perhaps we could fit into the police car, if we were willing to endure a tight squeeze."

Following Dorothy's gaze, Phryne spent a moment watching Jack's handsome profile as he leaned in to mutter something to Hugh.

"I think I might really enjoy a 'tight squeeze'" she said quietly, smiling to herself. "But nevermind, Dot, I'm not as tired as all that. I can certainly drive. I may, however, call it an earlier night, tonight. You've missed out on a number of very eventful evenings in this house, lately. For once, I think I'm looking forward to a quiet night in without the intrusion of any alarmingly amorous police detectives."

Dot bit her lip.

"Then," she began, "that story that you told us this morning about Inspector Robinson coming to work on your lines…it wasn't true, was it?"

"In a way it was," returned Phryne. "We actually did that the night before, although I'm afraid things got a little out of hand during our reading."

Dorothy gasped. "You didn't," she accused Phryne.

"No," retorted Phryne. "I did not, as a matter of fact. For a time, however, it did seem that the evening was heading in that direction. You'll be pleased to know that I had the good sense not to compromise the good Inspector's values, despite how much delicious fun it might have been."

Dorothy breathed out a little sigh of relief. "Very good, Miss."

"However," Phryne went on, "Jack is now pressing the point a bit more aggressively than I'd expected. He showed up drunk on my doorstep last night, begging me to consider an exclusive arrangement with him and only him."

"Oh dear,' murmured Dorothy. "And you…what did you say to that?"

Remembering the way that Jack had pleaded with her to 'think about it,' before she'd dragged him off the guest room for bed, Phryne frowned to herself and shook her head.

"Nothing," she said quietly. "I've yet to give him any kind of answer. He insisted that I consider the matter…and I will. I have. I'm afraid it's been rather distractingly on my mind all morning, and at the worst of times, too. We should be focusing our attentions on the murder investigation right now, not devoting ourselves to ill-advised little flights of passion. Perhaps once we've solved this case I'll have the time to seriously consider Jack's proposal…although I'm not sure that will help. It seems somehow that no matter what I decide, at least one of us is going to end up with regrets. Perhaps we both will."

For a moment, Dorothy looked thoughtfully over her shoulder at the police car behind them.

"Well, Miss," she said simply, after a brief pause. "I don't really think that I can be of much help, this time…but I do believe that no matter what you decide to do, it's certain to be the right decision. I'll stand staunchly behind whatever it is that you choose."

Phryne smiled.

"Thank you, Dot," she murmured. "That's kind and generous of you. There are certainly some days when I realize that you might just be too good for me. Don't you dare let Hugh Collins steal you away entirely. The more I'm asked to consider the prospect, the less I'm convinced that I could ever willingly part with you."

Dorothy smiled back.

"No need to worry, Miss Phryne," she assured her. "Perhaps it took me a little while to sort it out, but I'm sure of what I want, now. As long as you'll have me, Miss, I'll never truly leave you."

Phryne remembered Jack saying something very similar the evening before, and as she gazed at the determined light in Dorothy's eyes, she frowned and shook her head.

 _I remember a time,_ thought Phryne ruefully,  _not so very long ago, when all I ever wanted was the next great adventure. Every moment was transient, every experience a new opportunity worth grabbing before it was gone…and yet all I seem to be able to think about lately is how lonely it will be when the people I love have left me. Certainly there is another great adventure out there waiting for me to meet it, but the idea of meeting it alone is somehow so much less tantalizing than it's ever been before. Either I'm growing soft or I'm growing old, and I'm far too young to be growing old._

"Miss Fisher," called Hugh from the police car. "Are you ready yet? We need to get going!"

"I've been ready for twenty minutes," retorted Phryne over her shoulder. "I've only been waiting to give you a head start! Oh, well, here we go, then!"

Phryne slammed her foot down on the gas and the car took off down the road, leaving the two policemen in the dust behind them.

"Eeek," shrieked Dorothy, grabbing her hat with both hands and shutting her eyes.

"Hang on, Dot," cried Phryne, putting on a little extra burst of speed just to remind herself how much she enjoyed the wind on her face and in her hair. "We'll be there in no time!"

* * *

The Serpent Sally's Sideshow tent didn't open for business until five o'clock in the afternoon. When Phryne and the others arrived, therefore, most of the performers were sitting around in pairs or small groups, settling down to late breakfasts in their street clothes.

"Excuse me," called Phryne as she and her party strode into the tent "I'm terribly sorry to bother you, but can anyone tell me where I might find Sally? We've got an important question to ask about rare snake venoms, and we're subsequently in need of an expert."

A few of the performers looked up, frowned at each other, and then returned their attention to breakfast.

"Well really," murmured Dorothy, looking annoyed. "A simple answer to the question would do. Didn't any of these people have mothers?"

"Miss Sally's in the back," announced a young woman with long, lank blond hair, uncoiling herself from her seat in the corner and extending a hand. "I remember you, Miss Fisher. You're the lady who found poor Giles when he got spooked by a passing plane and slithered off into the woods out back."

"Yes," agreed Phryne, reaching out to shake the offered hand. "But I'm terribly sorry, I'm afraid I don't remember your name."

"Elena Hamilton," supplied the blond woman. "Still working on a stage name, actually. Serpent Sally's my mum. Follow me, all of you. I'm sure she'll be thrilled if she can help…you at least, Miss Fisher."

Shooting a dubious, somewhat snakelike look at Jack and Hugh, Elena spun around and started for the flap in the back of the tent.

"See," Phryne leaned over to whisper in Hugh's ear. "I believe that Miss Hamilton is rather daunted by your obviously 'official' presence, Constable."

Hugh said nothing, and Phryne hurried off after Elena, the others following quickly behind.

"Elena Hamilton, you said?" Phryne frowned thoughtfully to herself as she snuck through the tent flap. "As for a stage name, have you considered 'Elena the Elegant?' Or perhaps 'Emerald Elena," like the Emerald Boa. That's a kind of snake, isn't it? You could dress yourself up in glittering emerald green and purport to have once been the handmaiden to the youngest daughter of a South American prince, or something of that kind."

"Emerald green, Miss," added Dorothy helpfully, "would absolutely suit your eyes."

Elena looked surprised.

"Well," she began, "that's certainly-!'"

"I think," announced a deeper, darker female voice from somewhere just behind Phryne's back, "that it's a brilliant idea…as always, Miss Fisher. Really is such a shame that you chose a life of crime, rather than a life on the stage. You've got the right imagination to run your own act. Could have made yourself a star."

Phryne turned around to see Serpent Sally herself striding towards them, dressed in a pair of mud-covered trousers with her dull, frizzy red hair piled high against the back of her neck. Stopping a few feet away, Sally gave Jack and Hugh a slow, searching look.

"Sally Hamilton," began Phryne, coming forward to greet her. "May I introduce Inspector Jack Robinson and Senior Constable Hugh Collins? Of course, you've already met my compa-! Rather, you've met my friend, Mrs. Dorothy Collins."

"Charmed," muttered Sally, still with her eyes fixed warily on Jack. "I'm sure."

"It's funny that you should mention my penchant for performance," remarked Phryne. "As a matter of fact, I am having a bit of a fling with the stage, just at the moment. I'll be portraying Cleopatra in William Shakespeare's 'Antony and Cleopatra' in three weeks…or at least, I will if the play is allowed to go forward. In a way, that's why I'm here."

Sally frowned.

"Looking for a charmer?" She shot a quick, calculating look at her daughter, and then nodded once. "Elena's available, at the moment, although I don't usually rent her out to anybody but personal friends. You'll have to start out with something tame, like a grass snake; something that won't end up murdering audience members if it gets loose during the show. Elena's still pretty new to this game. She needs practice."

"I'm afraid that it's a little too late for that," murmured Phryne. "The murder has unfortunately already happened…although it wasn't an audience member who died. One of our actors, Ms. Angie Grace, was killed with an injection of Inland Taipan venom in the middle of one of our rehearsals last week."

"Taipan?" Sally's eyes went wide. "Doesn't make no sense, Phryne. Haven't seen one of those around here in years. Almost never do. Don't make good dancers, those snakes. Useless things…unless you're trying to get yourself killed."

"Someone," said Jack, "used the venom from one of those snakes to 'get himself killed,' but to murder an innocent woman, Mrs. Hamilton. Can you think of anyone or anywhere that might have access to an Inland Taipan, or even just to a Taipan's fangs?"

Frowning to herself, Sally chewed on her lip for a moment, then grunted and glanced back over her shoulder at the tent.

"Only person I ever knew who used one of them things," she told Jack, "was Slinky Sadie."

"And who, exactly," asked Jack, "was Slinky Sadie?"

"Girl who used to charm for me," clarified Sally. "Had some kind of a naturalist father who knew all there was to know about snakes and science. She used to put on a little show for the kids after the snakes were done dancing; talking about safety and what to expect if you got bit. Carried a bunch of big snake fangs around with her, too, to impress the little boys and to scare the little girls."

"She left us years ago," added Elena. "It was…maybe six or seven years ago, before I started traveling with the show. I remember the day she left; she met a man, I think, who was much older than she was, and they ran off and got married and took a job somewhere in town."

"Guess he didn't like the idea of her being a part of a carnival show," mused Sally grimly. "Most 'respectable' types of men aren't too in love with the idea of their pretty little wives playing with poisonous snakes."

"Of course not," said Hugh. "Because, of course, most men would be worried that something terrible might happen; that their wives might get hurt, or worse."

Sally threw back her head and laughed.

"None of that's got anything to do with it," she informed Hugh. "Men don't like their wives to play with dangerous animals because if makes them feel small…inferior-like. Men like to think they're braver than we are…that we gotta be protected from the sneaky, scary stuff in the world. Any man finds out that his wife's strong enough to tangle with a venomous snake and he starts feeling…emasculated. Like he hasn't got what it takes."

"I…" Hugh looked startled and deeply offended. "I'm sure that's not it at all, Mrs. Hamilton."

"I wouldn't worry too much yet, Hugh," said Phryne. "Dot may be my treasured fearless spider killer, but she's a far cry yet from voluntarily engaging with poisonous snakes. Thank your stars for small blessings."

Hugh said nothing, but only reached out and captured Dorothy's hand in his. Although Dorothy didn't pull away she didn't look too delighted, either.

"Mrs. Hamilton," demanded Jack. "Do you happen to remember this 'Slinky Sadie's' real name?"

Sally frowned.

"Can't say I do," she said. "It was a long time ago, after all, and I sure have a lot of people come and go, around here. I don't think-!"

"It was Sadie Barton," interrupted Elena. "Wasn't it, Mum? Oh, but the man she went off with…his name was Nguyen. I suppose that her name would be Sadie Nguyen now, if everything went…well, if everything turned out all right."

"Oh." Dorothy's fingers flew to her lips. "Miss, do you think that Sadie Nguyen might be-?"

"-the same Mrs. Nguyen who runs Portia Munroe's household?" Phryne shrugged. "I've no idea, Dot, but it's certainly possible. I confess that I can't imagine neat little Mrs. Nguyen as Slinky Sadie the Snake Charmer, but it's amazing the amount of difference to a woman that six or seven years can make."

"However," Jack reminded Phryne, "if Portia Munroe was telling the truth, then Mrs. Nguyen wasn't in the house at the moment of the murder."

" _If_  Portia was telling the truth," agreed Phryne. "I myself would like to hear exactly what Mrs. Nguyen has to say about what took place that night."

"We'll be going back to the station, then," said Hugh, sounding a little relieved. "Shall I go and pick up Mrs. Nguyen at the Munroe residence?"

"I'd like the elusive Mr. Nguyen to come in as well," remarked Jack. "Miss Fisher's right…it's about time that we heard both of their stories."

As Jack and Hugh agreed upon a plan of action, Phryne found herself distracted by a muscular man sitting on the very edge of the tent, playing on a pungi flute while a long, white snake uncurled itself from a basket at his feet and began swaying back and forth just inches in front of his face.

 _Sally's right,_ she thougth, fascinated.  _Something like that would make a brilliant addition to our play…perhaps at the beginning of the messenger scene, when Cleopatra is sitting alone and trying to amuse herself while pining for her absent Antony._

"Coming, Phryne?" Jack and the others were already heading back through the tent.

"Yes, of course," she called. "In just a moment, Jack! There's only one more thing that I'd like to ask Sally."

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

Don't be too hard on poor Hugh, dear readers. Let's remember that he comes from a different time and a different set of traditions.

I do think it's a little frustrating how the TV series never really resolved the Hugh and Dot storyline. First, Hugh says that he's happy for a long engagement, and then suddenly they're getting married! I'd like to explore that a little bit more, since I feel that it was sort of neglected in what was otherwise a magnificent Season 3.

But of course, there's still a lot that Jack and Phryne have to talk about…and we'll get back to that in the next chapt


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Author's Note:** Just finished watching season 2 for the second time.

This may be becoming an obsession. That also may not be news to any of you.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Another dead end," sighed Jack, stepping out of the interrogation room and closing the door behind him. "According to Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen, they left for their night out very shortly after seven o'clock, and they were out at the pictures until a little bit after ten. They claim to have not returned home during any of that time."

"That's exactly what Portia told us," said Phryne, watching as Hugh led Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen back out of the interrogation room and through the hallway towards the door.

"Precisely," muttered Jack. "You will be pleased to know, however, that our Mrs. Sadie Nguyen does confess to having once been the safety-conscious snake charmer 'Slinky Sadie,' although she purports to having had no reason whatsoever to have wanted to murder Miss Angie Grace."

"No motive," sighed Phryne, "and apparently missing at the time of the crime. I'm afraid that doesn't get us very far, now does it?"

"Nowhere at all," agreed Jack, rubbing at his right temple.

"Does your head still hurt?" Phryne frowned at him.

"Not as much as it did," admitted Jack. "I haven't eaten anything since breakfast, which probably isn't helping."

"You did have two breakfasts," Phryne reminded him.

"Delicious as Mrs. Collins' fare consistently is," retorted Jack, "I do not believe that a piece of toast and a single scone truly counts as two breakfasts."

Phryne shrugged.

"If you're all that hungry," she suggested, "then why not come back to the house with me and see if we can't find something suitably substantial for you?"

Jack took a deep breath.

"I think not," he said. "As a matter of fact…I think it might be best for me to avoid prolonged house calls at the Fisher residence for some time to come."

Phryne looked surprised and a bit stung, which gave Jack just a little bit of a guilty thrill.

"I thought," she said quietly, "that you'd decided that we'd still have a few days yet before you force me to face our permanent 'sayonara.'"

"Oh, we do," Jack assured her. "It's only that I've decided that, since it seems that I do still have a few days in which to strive for your affections, I might as well try a new approach. Rather than showing up on your doorstep in the middle of the night to exchange secretive romantic overtures and uncomfortably suggestive remarks, I thought that perhaps I might try courting you properly…for a change."

Phryne raised an eyebrow, and for a terrible moment Jack was half certain that she was going to laugh at him.

"Jack," began Phryne.

"Allow me," he said quickly, "to be a gentleman, for once; escorting the lady of my choice out for a night on the town."

Slowly, Phryne smiled.

"Well," she said, "that does sound…very nice."

Clearing his throat, Jack took a step towards Phryne and held out a hand to her.

Phryne Fisher," he said, "I'd like to take you dancing tonight at the Grand Hotel."

Phryne's looked surprised. "Really? At the Grand?"

"Perhaps," Jack went on, "it's not the classiest of all possible locations for an evening out, but I'm afraid that my status as police detective makes me an unwelcome guest at so many of the local dance clubs."

"You could, "suggested Phryne, "just commit to turning a blind eye to vice and illegal activity for a single evening…for me."

"You and I both know that I could never commit to anything of the kind," muttered Jack. "I'm afraid that no matter how much you may make me feel like a man, Miss Fisher, I will always be a policeman first…and that's a part of who I am that can't be changed, even for a beautiful woman."

Phryne just laughed.

"Well," she said quietly. "I can't very well argue when you put it like that, now, can I?"

"I promise you," Jack assured her, "that I'll find us something to eat on the way to the hotel, and that after a satisfying night full of dancing under the dim, industrial lighting, I will return you home at a highly unsuitable hour and leave you, if I've done my job at all correctly, dreaming of me as the sun rises over another day of fruitless investigational inquiries."

"And if I'm very good," whispered Phryne, sidling a little closer to him, her eyes shining, "do I get a kiss on the threshold before rushing upstairs to sneak past Mr. Butler's bedroom, in hopes that no one will have noticed that I missed my curfew hours before?"

"Possibly," returned Jack, pleased that he now at least seemed to have a better handle on the way his heart began pounding mercilessly every time Phryne gave him one of those coquettish little looks. "I'm sure that something of the kind can be arranged….if, as you say, you're very good."

Taking his offered hand, Phryne leaned in and gave him a quick little kiss on the cheek before he could stop her, sending his heart racing and his head spinning again.

"Well," she said. "In that case, I will have to do my best to be really very, very good."

Jack coughed.

"Certainly Jack," continued Phryne. "I accept your offer of companionship for the evening. Shall we say…eight o'clock?"

"I'll be there," murmured Jack.

"I'll be waiting," whispered Phryne, smiling. "Don't be late."

"I wouldn't dream of it," replied Jack seriously.

With Phryne's hand still in his, Jack found himself remembering the dream full of inexplicably vivid Shakespeare references that he'd had two nights before. Quickly, before he could second-guess himself or think better of it, he lifted Phryne's fingers to his lips and kissed them very carefully.

When Jack released her hand again, Phryne's smile had faded and she was watching him, wide-eyed and startled, with her lips very slightly parted as though she'd been cut-off mid thought.

She was still frozen and gazing into his eyes like that when Hugh returned from outside, this time with Dorothy in tow.

"Excuse me, Inspector," he began, "but Dottie and I are starving. Would it be all right if we knocked off for twenty minutes and picked something up at the pie cart, or-?"

"Yes! What an excellent idea," announced Phryne, perhaps a little more loudly than she'd needed to. Breaking away from Jack, she hurried over to join Dorothy.

"Jack was just telling me how hungry he's been as well," she announced. "Why don't we all go together and find something to eat? I don't believe that it will delay our inquiries particularly, especially considering we still don't seem to be getting anywhere at all. Might I suggest that when we're done with lunch we examine some of your notes, Hugh, on the statements given by all of the actors at the rehearsal on the night in question? Mrs. Nguyen may not have had a motive for murdering Miss Grace, but if someone else in the party did, then perhaps that individual may have persuaded Mrs. Nguyen and her dangerous creature to go along with the plan. It's worth considering."

As Phryne, Hugh and Dorothy strode out of the building together, Phryne still talking animatedly about her plans to further the investigation, Jack briefly sniffed at the cuff of his sleeve. His stomach started churning at the smell.

 _I must not forget,_ he reminded himself,  _that before any dancing this evening, I must find a suit that smells s significantly less like whisky and desperation._

* * *

At eight o'clock that evening, Phryne and Dorothy were in Phryne's boudoir, examining the impressive contents of Phryne's closet.

"I'm looking for something that says 'schoolgirl charm,'" Phryne said, frowning at the array of garments. "If there's anyone who knows how to most effectively create the innocent, unguarded look, then it's you, Dot."

"I…don't know if I should be flattered by that or not, Miss," murmured Dorothy. "May I ask where you're going?"

"Inspector Robinson," announced Phryne triumphantly, "is taking me out dancing…the Twilight Waltz, as a matter of fact."

Dorothy looked surprised.

"That sounds lovely, Miss," she said, "but it really doesn't seem like the appropriate outing for the innocent, schoolgirl look. That's..well, if you don't mind me saying so, that's a bit of a far cry from you usual style, isn't it?"

"You're not telling me I look old, are you, Dot?" Phryne regarded herself critically in the mirror.

"No, no, Miss. Not at all," insisted Dorothy earnestly. "It's only that…well, quite frankly we'd all be very lucky women if we could look as elegant and ladylike as you do in almost everything you wear. I've always been just a little bit jealous. I'm afraid that no matter how hard I try, I'll always be the…innocent schoolgirl type."

"Gentlemen," whispered Phryne, "fall foolishly head over heels for the schoolgirl type, Dot, and so you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. As for me, I suppose I'm doing my best to use my wardrobe to convey more effectively how I feel…a subtle touch for Jack's benefit."

"Inspector Robinson make syou feel like…a schoolgirl, Miss?" Dorothy frowned.

Turning away from the mirror, Phryne smiled softly to herself, running her fingers self-consciously over the fabric of a skirt that just did not seem exactly right for the occasion.

"For the first time in so many years," she murmured, "I have to admit that yes,he does. I have butterflies in my stomach, Dot, and I suppose I don't have to tell you that very few men in my life have ever managed to give me that kind of pleasant anxiety. I can't decide if I'm enjoying the experience or unnerved by the fact that he seems to have gotten so very far under my skin...even farther than I'd realized. Jack seems to be doing his best to simulate a sort of more traditional courtship that we've certainly never bothered with before, and…well, I'd have thought that I'd be bored by that sort of thing, but instead I find that I'm indescribably charmed. I wouldn't want to disappoint him by not looking the part."

To that, Dorothy didn't seem to have anything to say. Instead, she just smiled up at Phryne before reaching into the closet and pulling out a soft pink wool dress with a little white pattern of embroidery on the sleeves and skirt.

"How about this, then?" Holding it up to the light, Dorothy examined it critically. "I'd argue that this is more in the…well, innocent vein."

Accepting the dress from Dorothy, Phryne frowned at it for a moment and then nodded.

"Perfect," she announced. "Dorothy Collins you have done it yet again. Remarkable!"

Dorothy's smile only widened.

"Hugh," remarked Phryne as she slipped the dress over her head, "does know that you're with me tonight, doesn't he?"

"Yes…he does," admitted Dorothy, sighing. "I suppose I'm only getting away with it because he's out visiting his mother this evening, and she hasn't quite yet decided how she feels about me. There are some days when I'm her favorite person, and others when I'm 'that heathen woman' from 'the wrong side of the social tracks.'"

"Really?" Phryne was surprised. "What's wrong with your social standing, exactly?"

"It's…not mine, I think, that's really the problem," mumbled Dorothy unhappily. "I believe she's just particularly displeased by the idea that I've worked so unsuitably long for a lady detective."

Phryne nodded understandingly.

"And of course, the elder Mrs. Collins can't be too happy to find out that you never really gave me up at all," she added gently, "even after the wedding."

Dorothy just nodded glumly.

"Dot," began Phryne, "I know that I've said it to you before, but I don't wish to allow our association to become painful for you. If being my assistant is really devastating the rest of your life then surely-!"

"No, Miss," interrupted Dorothy quickly. "No, it's not that. It's not YOU that's the problem. You've always been so kind and generous and understanding about…well, everything. It's…it's everyone else that doesn't understand."

She let out a short, exasperated breath, and Phryne shook her head sympathetically.

"It has always been difficult," murmured Phryne, laying a hand on Dorothy's shoulder, "for a bright, independent woman to live by her dreams. I don't want you to give up on your happiness for my sake, truly, but…I don't want you to give up those big dreams of yours, either."

"Thank you, Miss," mumbled Dorothy. "I don't believe that I will. I don't believe that I can, now…not after everything you've taught me."

"Perhaps you would have been happier," replied Phryne ruefully, "if I never had."

Dorothy just shook her head again.

"I don't think like that," she told Phryne firmly. "It's just like you always say, Miss…we're living in a different world, now; a world that's a far cry from the one in which our priests and parents grew up. Times are changing, and we must change with them."

"And being a part of that change," replied Phryne sadly, "comes with the inevitable cost, I'm afraid."

Dorothy nodded.

"You're very lucky," Dorothy said unexpectedly, "to have a man in your life like Inspector Robinson, you know. He, at least, appreciates a woman for her intelligence and her wit…and her courage. That's something, Miss Phryne. It's something very special, I think."

"Yes." Nodding slowly to herself, Phryne gazed contemplatively into the mirror at the woman she had always been. "Yes, Dot, you're absolutely right. I am…very lucky to have Jack in my life. Any woman would be."

"But it's not any woman that he wants, Miss," replied Dorothy. "It's you...just you. Isn't that wonderful?"

Before Phryne had a chance to reply, there was a familiar, firm knock at the door.

"Have fun tonight, Miss," whispered Dorothy.

"Dot," said Phryne, suddenly feeling strangely and uncharacteristically vulnerable as she gazed out the open doorway at the front door.

"Don't worry, Miss," Dorothy assured her, taking her hand a giving it a comforting little squeeze. "It'll be all right. You'll see. It's really quite a remarkably beautiful thing…being in love, I mean."

Phryne shot a quick, startled look at Dorothy, but Dorothy only gave her a nudge.

"Go on, then," she urged Phryne. "The Inspector's waiting for you."

Incredibly conscious of each and every one of her own movements as she went, Phryne strode down the stairs, hurriedly fixed up her hair and then pulled open the door to reveal Jack standing on the threshold.

"Jack," Phryne heard herself say. "You've…changed your suit."

"Yes," agreed Jack. "This one, at least, lacks the tell-tale smells of last night's overindulgence."

"Pity," murmured Phryne. "Somehow, I think I'd like to keep a memory of that night. Well, of the poetry, at least."

Jack gave her one of his slow smiles.

"I'm very glad that you liked it," he told her seriously. "I'm afraid that there's a good deal more where that came from…although it may take another round of drinks to force it out of me."

"Another time, perhaps," said Phryne.

"Perhaps," agreed Jack.

Phryne took Jack's hand, and this time when he held it to his lips, he kept his eyes fixed on her face as he kissed it.

Phryne felt her heart jump in her chest, and she found herself almost frantically wishing that Dorothy had found some pretext to come with her.

"And now, Miss Fisher," said Jack, turning her and leading her by the hand in the direction of his car, "we will drive at a sane and sedate pace to the Hotel Grand, where I understand there is a buffet available until nine o'clock."

"I don't suppose," asked Phryne as Jack handed her up into the car, "that you'd be willing to consider letting me drive?"

"No chance whatsoever," retorted Jack, taking the driver's seat. "And I do require, in no uncertain terms, that you wear your seatbelt for the duration of the drive."

Dutifully, Phryne put on her seatbelt, and for once, she didn't even feel like making a complaint.

* * *

 **Author's End Note:** Got myself a little backlash on that last chapter, haha. Oh well, that's what happens when you internet.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Author's Note:** Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night, unable to sleep because you want to be writing so badly?

No? That's just me, then? Surely not.

Anyway, this entire chapter is pretty much pure romance with no useful advancement of the plot/murder investigation, but I enjoyed writing it anyway.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Jack," asked Phryne, as they strode together into the half-empty ballroom of the once great Hotel Grand. "I'm worried about Dot."

"Mrs. Collins?" Jack frowned. "Is something the matter?"

The band finished a song, and rested for a moment. A gentleman who had clearly had just a little too much to drink lurched off the wall towards them, and Jack reached out to take Phryne by the arm, drawing her closer.

"I think you know that it is," continued Phryne, settling her arm through his and allowing him to lead her into a secluded corner near the far wall. "I can't help thinking about what happened at breakfast this morning, and the more I think about it, the more I reject your theory that it's just a 'phase' their marriage is going through. Do you remember what Sally Hamilton said, about how men begin to feel 'emasculated' if their wives are too self-sufficient?"

"I do," replied Jack, "but I don't necessarily agree with Mrs. Hamilton's assessment."

"Oh?" Phryne raised an eyebrow.

"A woman who demonstrates that she is perfectly capable of handling herself," explained Jack, "is, especially nowadays, far less likely to tolerate the presence of a man in her life."

"Yes," agreed Phryne. "That's exactly what Sally said."

"Let me finish." Jack frowned. "Hugh isn't necessarily concerned that his wife is going to outshine or 'emasculate' him as your friend so delicately put it. He's concerned that, having no further use for him, Dorothy Collins is going to get bored and leave him behind."

"He told you that?" Phryne looked surprised.

"No," admitted Jack. "I'm fairly confident, however, that I have properly diagnosed the case in question. It's a feeling with which I'm all too familiar. You said it yourself this morning; our princesses are beginning to discover that they no longer need saving; and in that case, what's the use of the knight?"

"Perhaps," murmured Phryne, "a new arrangement, then; the knight and the princess ride off together into the sunset, both fully armed with might and wit, to face the dragons of life side by side, as partners in crime."

"Partners in crime-prevention," suggested Jack. "That is, unless we're classifying dragon-slaying as a crime."

"Of course it is," retorted Phryne. "Think of the poor dragon. He was only obeying his instincts, after all. That's hardly justification for murder."

Before Jack had a chance to respond to that, the band began playing again.

Jack was not exactly an experienced or versatile piano player, but even he knew how to plunk out this one. "Let's Misbehave," wasn't difficult to play, and it was very popular at parties.

"Jack," whispered Phryne, squeezing his arm. "They're playing our song."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "This is our song?"

"We're all alone," began Phryne in that startlingly low, remarkably seductive voice of hers that always sent incredible little chills straight down Jack's spine. "No chaperone can get our number. The world's in slumber…sing with me, Jack."

Jack shook his head.

"We didn't come here to sing," he reminded her, and then he took her hand in his and wrapped the other arm around her waist.

Phryne smiled.

"I thought," he muttered, annoyed, "that this was supposed to be a waltz."

"Maybe they're getting to that," suggested Phryne, shrugging. "In the meantime, this suits me fine."

She snuggled a little closer to Jack as they began to move across the floor, Jack gallantly forcing himself to stay focused on the movements of his feet, rather than on the movements of Phryne's hips where his mind was anxious to stray.

Jack was not what anyone would have called a talented dancer, and he knew it well. Police work rarely required a competent mastery of the foxtrot, and so his dancing was passable at best, although with Phryne the dancing always felt somehow much more natural and significantly more awkward at the very same time. He was more conscious of himself with Phryne, but she never seemed to mind any stiff knees or missteps.

"I'm a little jealous, you know," said Phryne as they swayed across the floor. "You're a very graceful man."

"No one," replied Jack, "has ever used that word to describe me before."

"In that case, "suggested Phryne, "then perhaps you don't show off your dancing skills enough in public. We should do this more often."

Jack cleared his throat and pulled her in just a little bit closer.

"I'm not sure how I feel about 'showing off my dancing skills' in public," he said quietly, "but if it means another opportunity to put my arms around you, then I'm sure I could be convinced."

Phryne laughed in surprise.

"Jack," she told him, "I believe you're getting bolder with your romantic one-liners."

Jack shrugged.

"After last night, there doesn't seem any reason not to be," he told her. "You've seen the worst of it already. Why turn back now?"

"Oh, I wasn't complaining," she murmured. "You're turning pink, Jack. Too much teasing? I'm sorry. Have I overdone it?"

Phryne didn't sound even the least bit genuinely apologetic, and Jack found himself struggling not to smile.

"I never said that I wasn't just a bit ashamed of what you refer to as my new-found 'boldness,'" he muttered.

Phryne shook her head.

"Please," she insisted, "don't be. I'm quite enjoying it. This is not the stiff, stolid, unyielding Inspector Robinson that so many hardened criminals have been unlucky enough to face. I like the new you that I've found, very much indeed…and fortune favors the bold, you know."

"What," asked Jack, "about Miss Phryne Fisher? What sort of man does she favor?"

The song finally ended, but just as Phryne and Jack were pausing to catch their breath, the band struck up another tune.

"Ah," said Phryne. "Here's your waltz, Jack."

Jack extended a hand to her, and Phryne melted back into his arms without a second's hesitation.

"I'm on to you," she whispered in his ear as they began to dance again.

"I thought you might be," returned Jack.

"I told you once," continued Phryne, "that the waltz was a dangerous game. I told you that my mother lost all reason in my father's arms when he waltzed with her at the Hotel Grand. That's why we've come here, isn't it?"

Jack nodded.

"I'm afraid you've seen through my clever scheme," he admitted. "Foiled again."

"If you're not careful," Phryne reminded him, "we might both lose our heads in the midst of this dangerous dance…just like my mother did."

"I'm absolutely counting on you losing your reason," replied Jack, sweeping her into a turn. "I'm afraid there's no point in pretending that I have any reasonable faculties left to lose."

He gazed into Phryne's face for a moment, and again the smile faded away on her lips and she stared up at him with her eyes wide, as though startled and maybe even a little frightened by something that she found in his expression.

"Honestly, Jack," she whispered. "I feel very strange…like I'm having a hard time catching my breath."

"I know the feeling," muttered Jack.

"I'm not so sure I like it," returned Phryne, frowning. "Exhilarating as it is, there's something terrifying about it, too...something that isn't very much fun."

Jack wasn't sure what to say in response to that, and he began wondering if maybe he'd finally started coming on far too strong.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, pausing for a moment to release her. "If you want to stop-!"

"No," murmured Phryne unexpectedly, clinging to his arms and letting him draw her back into an embrace. "I don't believe I ever said that I wanted to stop."

Now uncertain of his ground, Jack began leading Phryne through the dance again.

"You're a very confusing woman," he mumbled after a moment.

"Yes," agreed Phryne sadly. "I know. I suppose some gentlemen find that exciting."

"I never said I didn't," retorted Jack.

Phryne smiled at him, but something had changed in her expression, now, and it wasn't a true, carefree smile anymore.

"I have an idea," she said, as the music stopped again and she and Jack had the opportunity to rest for a moment. "Why don't we invite Dot and Hugh to join us next time? They used to go dancing all the time when they first met, didn't they? Perhaps a little romantic night out will help to heal the rift that independence and the changing role of women has rent in their wedded union."

Jack nodded. "It's worth a try."

"Yes," agreed Phryne.

"I take it, then," Jack went on carefully, "that there is going to be a 'next time?'"

Phryne gave him one of her rare, serious looks.

"Yes, Jack," she said quietly. "If you think you can stand it, then I'd like that very much."

At Phryne's words, a relieved sort of delicious warmth began in Jack's chest, slowly spreading out through his core and energizing the rest of his body as it went, making him feel incredibly alive.

"Phryne," he said quietly, hoping that she couldn't hear the sound that his beating heart was now making in his ears.

She suddenly grabbed onto his arm, and gazed up at him. Jack swallowed hard, taking a step towards her and preparing himself mentally for what would no doubt be a very amorous series of eagerly anticipated poor choices.

It was only then that Jack realized that Phryne wasn't really looking at him at all. Instead, she was gazing fixedly right past his left ear, frowning at something behind him.

"Jack," she hissed. "Did you see that?"

"What?" Startled, Jack turned around and tried to follow her gaze. "Did I see-?"

"That man," she said, still keeping her voice as low as she could. "The one in the purple cravat. He just snatched something out of that woman's bag…a wallet, I think. Could have been something else. Look, he's leaving, and she hasn't even noticed! I don't think anyone else has seen it, either."

"What?" Jack stared. "Are you…wait, are you certain that he stole something out of her bag?"

"What kind of a question is that?" Phryne glared at him. "Of course I'm certain…I just don't know WHAT it was he took! Come on, Jack, he's getting away!"

Jack and Phryne exchanged a quick look, and then Jack moved fast.

"Excuse me, sir," he called, striding over towards the man in question, who was already making a bee-line for the door.

"Uh…who, me?" Reluctantly, the man turned around and gave Jack an irritated look. "What is it? I'm afraid that I'm in a bit of a hurry."

Jack could already see Phryne creeping up quietly behind the man, reaching out for his back pocket.

Jack cleared his throat hurriedly. "I-I was just wondering," he managed officiously, "if you had the time? My watch has, uh, broken, you see, and-!"

"Aha!" Snatching the wallet out of the man's pocket, Phryne turned triumphantly to Jack, holding it up for them both to see. "Got you!"

"Hey!" The man took a menacing step towards her, eyes narrowed. "That's mine, lady! What the hell do you think you're-?"

"Oh?" Phryne frowned at the wallet and then shook her head. "Really? This wallet claims to belong to a 'Mrs. Ida Nesbitt,' and I didn't think you looked like much of an Ida. Perhaps I'm mistaken? It must be a family name."

She batted her eyelashes innocently at him, and the man, still glaring, reached hesitantly for the wallet.

"Y-yeah," he began. "It's a, uh…it was my grandmother's name. That's right. She-!"

"Oh!" A very slim woman in peacock blue came rushing over towards them, waving her hands distractedly in the air. "My wallet! That's my wallet! I thought I'd dropped it! I was beginning to get frantic, what a nightmare. Thank you ever so much for finding it!"

For a moment, the man in the purple cravat stood frowning at his feet, apparently uncertain whether to continue claiming the wallet as his own or to accept the compliment.

Jack took the opportunity to remove his badge from his pocket.

"Inspector Jack Robinson," he said, flashing the badge at the now very startled would-be thief. "I'd just like to thank you, sir, on behalf of the Victoria police department, for locating this woman's wallet."

"It's always so lovely to see a good Samaritan at work," agreed Phryne with just a hint of malicious glee in her voice.

Jack just raised an eyebrow and kept his eyes fixed quietly on the man's sneering face.

The man in the cravat glanced balefully at Phryne, then gave Jack a miserable little bow and began slowly backing away.

"Uh, y-yeah," he hissed. "Yeah…my pleasure,  _Inspector._ Anything for a lady, after all…"

* * *

By the time Jack and Phryne arrived back at her home, it was absolutely the very unsuitable hour that Jack had promised.

"What a magnificent evening," declared Phryne as Jack walked her to the door. "I don't think I could have asked for anything more perfect."

"I believe we could have done without the encounter with the pickpocket," muttered Jack. "We  _almost_  spent an entire four hours without having to solve a single crime."

Phryne just rolled her eyes at him.

"And that," she retorted, "would have been a terrible shame, don't you think? I felt that it added a little spice. Crime solving is, after all, what you and I do best together."

Jack sighed and gritted his teeth.

"Yes," he said aloud. "I suppose it is."

Phryne's smile faded a little, and she raised an eyebrow.

"Jack," she asked, "what is it? Have I said something wrong?"

Jack just shook his head.

"No, you haven't," he muttered.

He stopped a few feet from Phryne's door, and Phryne was forced to stop with him.

"I've upset you," she said. "I have, I can see it. Be honest with me."

"It's nothing," returned Jack stiffly. "Not your fault."

"Well," countered Phryne, "I certainly can't fix it if you won't tell me what's wrong. Go on, Jack, don't clam up on me now, of all times. What have I done?"

She stood there staring him down, challenging him with her eyes until Jack let out a short, exasperated breath and shoved his hands into his pockets, embarrassed at how easily she could see through him.

"It's about what I said, isn't it?" Phryne frowned. "About…how detection is what we do best together."

Jack nodded curtly.

"You're not wrong," he said. "It's only that…there are moments when I find myself wondering whether you're more interested in the professional merits of Inspector Robinson the dogged policeman than you are in Jack Robinson the man. I believe I've made it clear enough lately that I'd like our relationship to extend beyond the secrets of autopsy reports and interrogation rooms, and into the realm of...well, of the personal, if I'm being 'honest' about it."

Phryne sighed. "Oh, Jack," she murmured.

"You don't have to say anything," Jack assured her hastily. "I'm not necessarily sure I want to know-!"

"I'm going to say something," retorted Phryne, "because you should know by now that I'm perfectly capable of handling most of your police work entirely on my own. Since I clearly don't need actually NEED you to back me up in an investigation, why on earth do you suppose I spend any time with you at all?"

Stung and surprised by the bluntness of that response, Jack swallowed hard and cleared his throat.

"I…had thought it was because you enjoyed the work that we do together," he heard himself mutter stiffly. "If I've been mistaken, then I sincerely apologize."

Taking a deep breath, he averted his eyes from Phryne's face, and was surprised when she took a step towards him and laid a hand on his arm.

"Yes, I certainly do," she said, much more gently, now, than before. "But lately, Jack, I think you might be the reason that I enjoy our little detection games so much, not the other way around. Didn't I tell you that already?"

Jack shut his eyes for a moment and blew out a short breath.

"I'm terrible at this," he admitted bluntly. "I seem to be acting primarily like a petulant schoolboy around you…and now I've spoiled the fun of the evening."

"No you haven't," said Phryne quietly. "I have had an absolutely lovely time."

She smiled at him again, and Jack did his best to smile back, deeply ashamed of himself and angry that he'd let his feelings intrude, yet again, on what might have been a perfect moment.

"But," added Phryne in a whisper, "you still haven't kept all of your promises to me, Jack. Don't you remember? You assured me that you'd escort me home at an unsuitable hour, and that if I was very, very good…I'd be rewarded."

"Far be it from me," muttered Jack, "to renege on a promise."

Phryne closed her eyes, and Jack gently took her face in his hands and kissed her slowly and softly, just once. He felt her smile against his lips as she reached up to clasp her arms around his neck, and when he broke the contact after one long, frozen moment, he found her gazing up at him with the same softness in her eyes that he'd felt on her lips.

"Magical," she whispered, still smiling.

Jack shivered a little.

"Are you sure," she asked, "that you won't' come in for a nightcap?"

"Quite sure," said Jack. "But thank you for the offer. It really is very late, Phryne. I suggest you sneak off to bed before the sun comes up and your staff finds you out."

"So that I can lie awake and dream of my man in the fading moonlight?" Phryne laughed a little under her breath. "All right, then. Goodnight, Jack. Thank you for the dancing…and everything else."

Jack waited until Phryne had slipped into the house and closed the door behind her before he turned around and headed back towards his car.

It was only when he was he was already halfway down the empty street again that he realized with a start exactly what it was that Phryne had just said.

 _My man,_ he thought, with that same, now familiar warmth enlivening him from the inside out.

By the time he got back home, he was whistling again, loudly and proudly without any fair concern for the other sleepers on the block.

 _We're all alone,_ he hummed on his way up the stairs,  _no chaperone to get our number. The world's in slumber…let's misbehave…_

* * *

 **Author's End Note:** Well that was fun, now, wasn't it? I have some more time today, so maybe I can write more later. We've FINALLY finished getting all of our stuff into the unit; but that's really only the first part of my troubles, as now I must prepare to begin studying for my teac


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Author's Note:** This morning, my partner G had a nosebleed, and when I say a nosebleed, I mean the man almost bled out through his nose. Everything is soaked in blood; it actually looks like a murder was committed around here.

…and then he went to work.

I'm going to go ahead and dedicate this chapter to poor, diligent G, who refused to stay home from work even almost after dying in my mother's bathroom at five o'clock in the morning. That is an almost Jack and Phryne-like level of commitment in the face of staggering hardship.

He's also my writer partner on a number of other projects and he pays half the rent on the place that we JUST leased, so let's all home that he makes it home alive. Pretty please.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

The next morning the sun was nowhere to be seen; it was miserably gloomy and the rain was pouring down in muddy buckets.

"Morning, Dot," announced Phryne, taking a seat beside her former companion at Portia Munroe's breakfast table. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Dorothy looked over at Phryne, blinked for a moment, and then smiled.

"Good morning, Miss," she replied, nodding. "Did you have a nice time at the waltz?"

"I did, thank you." Phryne sighed happily. "A lovely evening in every respect…although I fear that I'm now a little too sleepy to be tackling difficult recitation, so I do hope that we're not going to working on scenes this early in the morning."

Dorothy just shook her head, still smiling, and forked a bite of breakfast into her mouth.

Phryne raised an eyebrow at her.

"What," Phryne demanded, "are you grinning about, Dorothy Williams?"

Dot swallowed, then daintily wiped her mouth with a napkin and turned back to Phryne.

"You must have had a very nice time indeed," she explained, "because…well, you're glowing, Miss. You're like a ray of sunshine on this dark, gloomy day. I'm happy for you."

Surprised, Phryne reached up and put a hand to her cheek, frowning thoughtfully and wondering what a glow looked like on her face.

"Is it gloomy, Dot?" She glanced airily over her shoulder at the rain pelting down outside the window. "I really hadn't noticed."

Dorothy chuckled to herself.

"Good morning, my precious thespians," announced Portia, sweeping into the room and taking her own seat at the head of the breakfast table. "Thank you all so much for coming; I know that it's far too early for a weekday morning, but it can't be helped. I have some excellent news for all of you, and I couldn't wait until this evening to share. After all, we've a great deal of work to get done in a short amount of time, so why waste a moment?"

"Portia," asked Martha, hesitantly raising her hand. "Um…do you think that we're still going to have the play? I mean, after what's happened to poor Angie, and with the police investigation still going on, I don't think-!"

"Nonsense, Martha," retorted Portia, drowning out the rest of Martha's sentence and waving it away with one aggressively dismissive hand. "Of course we're going to have the play. As I've always said and will say again, the show must go on, even in the face of extraordinary hardship! It is with that very goal in mind that I've invited someone to join us here today, and it's someone that I'm sure you all already know, by reputation at least."

Getting hastily to her feet again, Portia spun around to face the open hallway door.

"Mr. Kelley," she called into the corridor. "Come on in! The ladies are just DYING to meet you."

 _Kelley?_ Phryne frowned.  _No, of course not. It couldn't be…_

Even before Phryne had finished the thought, a man strode into the room; broad-chested and aggressively masculine, with thick dark hair down to the nape of his neck and a rugged sort of neatly-stubbled smile on his strong-jawed face.

"This," announced Portia triumphantly, "is Mr. Daniel Kelly, everyone! Of course, you've heard the name."

"G'day," growled Daniel in exactly the sort of accent that an American film-goer might have expected to hear from an Australian-born heartthrob.

 _You'd have to have been living under a rock not to have heard of him,_ thought Phryne, genuinely surprised.  _What possible connection could Portia Munroe have to Daniel Kelley? I must admit, I'm a little impressed._

"Now I know that this is really a bit of a contradiction to our bylaws," began Portia, as the women around the table began chattering excitedly at each other. "But as Mr. Kelley just so happens to be staying in the area at this moment, and as he has more than a little bit of valuable experience as a Shakespearean performer on both stage and screen I thought that it would be ridiculous not to accept his offer of help with our little production, even if he does have the sort of extra appendage that we don't usually allow to our members and participants."

Dorothy tittered uncomfortably, then glanced at Phryne and quickly composed herself again, looking mortified.

"Mr. Kelley," continued Portia proudly, "has graciously agreed to step into the role of Antony, which our dear departed Angie has so recently vacated. With his help and very much in Angie's memory, I'm certain that we're going to have an absolutely spectacular performance in three weeks, on schedule as originally intended."

"Looking forward to it," added Daniel. "'It's been some time since I've done the bard. It'll be a nice break from explosions and swinging through burning sets."

He grinned wolfishly at Martha, who looked startled and began helplessly wiping her clean mouth with a dirty napkin.

"And now, Mr. Kelley, if you'd care to join us for a spot of breakfast," said Portia, retaking her seat. "Not the elegant fare that you're accustomed to, perhaps, but surely-!"

Striding over to the seat on Phryne's other side, Daniel grinned down at her.

"Looks delicious," he said, slowly seating himself and never taking his eyes off of Phryne's face. "I'm starving. Thanks for the offer."

As Portia returned to her own seat and the other women began whispering to each other and pointing excitedly across the table at Daniel, Phryne swallowed a sip of her coffee and turned to face her new seat partner.

"Hello, Daniel," she said. "Fancy meeting you, here."

"Phryne Fisher," drawled Daniel, shaking his head and reaching out to snatch a piece of toast impertinently off of her plate. "Sure is a small, small world out there, isn't it?"

"Not so small as all that," retorted Phryne, carefully ignoring the toast theft. "The last time I saw you, you were thousands of miles away…on a movie set in England, about a month ago."

"That's right," replied Daniel, chewing thoughtfully on the stolen toast. "'Pride Before a Fall,' was it? With Monica King."

"An incredibly talented actress," murmured Phryne. "I've always loved her work."

Daniel snorted a derisive sort of laugh.

"She's a snarky, grubby bit of a conniving bitch," he snarled, "and you can tell whomever you please what I said; I'd say it again. I got no use for talent without character…and she was a character in all the wrong ways. A real piece of work, she is."

Phryne raised an eyebrow at him.

"I take it," she said quietly, "that things did not end well between you and Miss King, then?"

"Maybe not," said Daniel noncommittally. "Anyway, they ended; that's what matters."

Phryne gave him a sympathetic look.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," she told him.

"Don't be," retorted Daniel, shaking his head. "Shouldn't be, anyway; you're more a part of the problem than you know."

He suddenly gave Phryne a very sharp, piercing, almost hungry look, and Phryne's insides began doing all-too-familiar somersaults as his expression called to mind memories of time spent, not too long ago, languishing in bed together on a rainy London morning as Daniel ignored calls from his director in favor of playing through an all-together different, far more intimate sort of scene with Phryne herself.

And what," asked Phryne, lowering her voice a little bit, "brings you to our far less glamorous neck of the woods? Surely you didn't come all the way to Victoria just to rescue an amateur theater troupe. You've always detested Shakespeare, Daniel. You've said as much before, and I know that you turned down the role of Macbeth at the theater royal last year. That could have been the classical distinction of a lifetime."

Daniel shrugged and gave her a slow grin.

"Maybe," he said, "Maybe I came after you. Not sure I could ever forget about those gaudy West End nights of ours. Been thinking about them a lot, lately, now that I've got some time on my own. Been thinking about you a lot, too. You're a hard woman to forget, Phryne Fisher. Can't say I haven't spent time wondering what you're wasting your time for in a little dump like this, when everybody knows you could be a real stage or even a screen star if you wanted to be one."

Phryne rolled her eyes at him. "You're sweet, Daniel, but although I like to think that I do have just a little spark, I'm afraid that I couldn't profess to having enough talent for real pictures. I dabble when it suits me, but-!"

"You could teach all them other ladies a thing or two about how to work a love scene," he said, leaning in to growl in her ear. "Won't ever feel as real with any of them other stars as it feels with you."

"That," returned Phryne carefully, pulling away from him, "is probably because it isn't real. In the pictures, it's all acting, Daniel. It's all just…glamor and razzle-dazzle."

"Razzle me again sometime, Phryne," whispered Daniel. "For us, it was real…and there was real magic in it; the kind of magic you can't fake with smoke and mirrors."

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a card and slapped it down on the table next to her.

"Call me," he told her, "when you're ready to work some more real magic again. I'll be free...for you."

With that, he got up and strode back over to Portia.

"Scuse me, Miss," he asked, "but where would I found your bathrooms?"

While Portia escorted Daniel down the hallway, Dorothy turned to stare, wide-eyed, at Phryne.

"Miss," she hissed. "Miss, did I hear…? Did that man just suggest that you belong in naughty pictures?"

Phryne laughed a little under her breath.

"I do not think, Dot," she said, "that that is exactly what he was suggesting, no. Daniel's a bit abrasive in his manner, certainly, but there's a reason that he's such a rising star. He does have a certain…aggressively intriguing  _something_  that stands out in a crowd; even a crowd of other film stars. I've seen that charisma first hand, and when he wants it to be, it's just as breathtaking in person. I suppose that's the sign of a real talent; the ability to take his glimmer of stardom off of the stage into the real world."

"He's…well, he really is devastatingly attractive," murmured Dorothy. "N-not that I was particularly looking, of course."

"There is nothing wrong, Dot, with looking at other men," Phryne reminded her. "It's only when you get to the touching stage that things can potentially become complicated."

* * *

Phryne, Dorothy and the others rehearsed the first act of the play for several hours after that, until they found themselves up against lunchtime.

"I've had Mrs. Nguyen prepare some light refreshments for our break," Portia announced, glancing at the clock up on the mantelpiece and shaking her head. "I had hoped that we'd be already into the second act, by now but I suppose there's no point in crying over dropped lines. Let's go ahead work through the beginning of Act Two, at least, and then we'll go ahead and take a short rest. Martha, Annabelle? Places, please!"

As Martha, Portia and Annabelle took their places for the beginning of the scene, Phryne listened through the adjacent door to the sound of someone clattering around in the kitchen.

"Excuse me, Dot," she told Dorothy, shooting a quick smile at Portia, who was already beginning Octavian's opening monologue. "I think I'll just…step into the kitchen for a quick glass of water. Won't be long, and I'm not in this scene, in any case. Feel free to shout if you find that you need me sooner than expected."

"All right." Dorothy nodded, peering curiously into the kitchen after Phryne. "And, um, j call if you need some, um…help with that glass, Miss."

"I certainly will," Phryne assured her, passing quickly through the door into the other room.

As she went, she was just a little gratified by the feeling of Daniel Kelley's eyes boring hungry holes into the back of her neck.

Small, dark-haired and sharp-featured Sadie Nguyen was at the counter in the kitchen, carefully slicing cheese for the centers of the little square sandwiches she'd already laid out on a big dish.

"Mrs. Nguyen," said Phryne, smiling as she came up carefully alongside her so as not to cause any alarm. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but…might I have a word?"

Mrs. Nguyen turned around with a wary look in her eyes, then gave Phryne a little nod of recognition and gestured apologetically at the slices of cheese.

"I'm afraid that terribly busy just at the moment, Miss Fisher," she said, soft-spoken as ever, with her sharp eyes resting on Phryne's face. "I've got the sandwiches to do, and then the dishes after that, and then-!"

"Please," insisted Phryne, picking a used bowl out of the sink and brandishing a sponge at it. "Let me help you. It does look like an awful lot of work, and I'm not in the scene that we're rehearsing just at the moment."

"Oh, no, Miss!" Mrs. Nguyen looked horrified, and Phryne wasn't sure if the woman was more appalled by the prospect of submitting to questioning or by the idea of Phryne helping with the dishes. "Never, Miss! I'll be fine, thank you, surely. I wouldn't presume-!"

"Please, Sadie," murmured Phryne, dropping the pretenses and looking Mrs. Nguyen seriously in the eye. "I really do need to speak to you on an urgent matter, and I promise that it won't take more than a few minutes."

Reluctantly, Mrs. Nguyen shrugged.

"All right," she muttered. "I…if it's only a few minutes."

"Thank you," said Phryne gratefully, taking a seat on a chair by the counter. "I'm sure that you already know, but it's about poor Angie's death. The police called you in yesterday for questioning, didn't they?"

Mrs. Nguyen hunched her shoulders protectively.

"I already told them, Miss Fisher, there's nothing to tell. Sure, I did have a little snake like the one that bit poor Miss Grace, but that's where the matter ends, really."

"You…did have a snake?" Phryne frowned. "Not anymore, then?"

"Not anymore," agreed Mrs. Nguyen, shaking her head. "Poor Teddy died years ago, just after I left the act. Snakes don't live so terribly long; nine years, ten years, maybe. I am sorry about poor Miss Grace, truly I am, but I have no idea how the poor thing might have got bit. Must have been a snake in the house; it's not impossible. Things do happen, Miss, even in the city sometimes. They're dangerous creatures…that's why folks used to pay so much to see them dance. Folks like the illusion of danger; but honestly, Teddy wouldn't have hurt a fly. Never bit me once; I always kept him well-enough fed on rats and mice that he didn't need to look anywhere else for food. That's how I kept him sane and tame; just like I keep my husband." She laughed nervously, her fingers clenching and unclenching around the knife handle as she spoke. "Just like a snake, the way to keep is a man is to keep his tummy full."

Phryne smiled.

"I absolutely agree," she said conversationally. "I'm quite certain that the only reason Inspector Robinson continues to come to call is because of his particular fondness for my former companion's delectable cottage pie."

Mrs. Nguyen turned around and widened her eyes at Phryne.

"Inspector Robinson, Miss?" She frowned. "Is he your man, then? Well, I suppose that explains it."

"I…" Phryne wasn't certain how to answer that question, and something was now squirming uncomfortably around in her stomach as Mrs. Nguyen watched her expectantly.

 _What exactly,_ she wondered,  _does that explain?_

"To return to the subject of dear departed Teddy," said Phryne hastily, clearing her throat, "I don't suppose you kept any of the Taipan venom…perhaps for sentimental value?"

"Snake venom, Miss?" Mrs. Nguyen was now staring at Phryne as though Phryne had suddenly grown an extra head. "That's…that's not any sort of sane person's keepsake, Miss."

Phryne couldn't reasonably argue with that.

"It's just," Phryne insisted, "that Taipan venom is such an unusual choice for a murder weapon. Inspector Robinson and I are only trying to find out who else might have been able to get their hands on it. If it's not you, Sadie, and I truly believe that it isn't, then perhaps you could steer us in the right direction? There weren't any other local charmers, perhaps who moved on to other shows who might have had access to Teddy or to any of his snaky family and friends?"

Mrs. Nguyen only shook her head.

"It's not impossible to catch one," she said. "Dangerous, sure, but not impossible. Someone else must have done it."

"Is that," asked Phryne, "how you got Teddy, then? Did you catch him yourself?

"Me, Miss Fisher?" Again, Mrs. Nguyen laughed her anxious laugh. "Catch an Inland Taipan? No, Miss. You'd have to be real quick to get one of them. Real smooth…real silent, and crafty-like; good on your feet. I'm a noisy mess, really. Mr. Nguyen always says I keep him up at night, clunking around the house at all hours and sounding like a herd of-!"

"But where," asked Phryne, doing her best not to let herself get impatient, "did you get him, then?"

Mrs. Nguyen hesitated for just a moment too long.

"Afraid I can't remember, Miss," she whispered finally. "It was a whole lot of years ago, after all. Must have bought him off a trader somewhere…maybe back at the carnival. Something like that, I'm sure."

Phryne sighed, bit her lip, and forced an understanding smile.

 _So much,_ she thought,  _for asking nicely. I'm certain that Mrs. Nguyen's Teddy holes the key to this problem; perhaps a conversation with Mr. Nguyen woudl yield some slightly more satisfying results._

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

So, here's just a little head's up. As I plot out and outline the rest of this story, it looks like things might get ugly and significantly darker before the end. Didn't originally think that it would go in that direction…but perhaps it will.

Also, this is almost certainly going to be a series, maybe a trilogy (but no longer than that), of Jack/Phryne stories. I've got the whole arc sketched out, so that's something at least.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Author's Note:** Dear readers, you will be pleased to know that G has made it home from work alive, and that he is now asleep in the basement.

Crisis averted! In celebration, let's have another chapter. This time with extra Shakespeare!

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

At around two o'clock that afternoon, Jack and Hugh strode into Portia Munroe's parlor where the rehearsal was taking place.

Phryne, who had been seated on the sofa, got up and hurried over to meet them.

"Ah, Jack," she said, smiling. "Just the man I needed. Hugh, too! You might be exactly the right person for this job."

"What job is that, Miss Fisher?" Jack frowned, choking down his irrational excitement at being "just the man she needed."

Taking Jack's arm, Phryne led him across to the other side of the room, away from the scene in progress.

"I'd like to have a second serious word with Mr. Nguyen," she told Jack in a lowered voice. "I spoke to Sadie this morning, but I'm afraid that I didn't get any farther than you did in your first interrogation. I can't help but feel that there's something that we're missing about that couple. After all, it can't really be a coincidence that Sadie is the only woman locally who has access to a Taipan's venom, can it? I'm not ready to accept coincidence, yet, at any rate."

Jack nodded.

"I'll admit that they warrant further investigation," he told her, "but what exactly would you like me to do? Why not interrogate Mr. Nguyen yourself? I thought you claimed to be perfectly capable of handling police business without me."

Phryne rolled her eyes at him.

"I did, and I am," she said, "but I believe that this particular case, Jack, calls more for a man's presence than a woman's touch. According to Ms. Elena Hamilton, Mr. Nguyen is the sort of man who'd disapprove of his wife performing on the stage…and any man who disapproves of women in business for themselves to that extent is unlikely to take kindly to being questioned by a lady detective. I'm afraid that you're a bit more suited to this task than I am. You'll have to do the asking yourself."

"And…what exactly do you suggest that I ask?" Jack frowned. "I don't suppose you have any new leads that might open up new avenues for questioning? He's already denied having any knowledge of the murder or the snake in question."

"Ask him," suggested Phryne, "about how he and Mrs. Nguyen met. Ask him about the carnival and the snake charmers prior to his whisking her away to a more respectable life of marriage and service."

Jack raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you really think that will help?"

"I have no idea," admitted Phryne, shrugging, "but it's something new that we haven't probed, yet, and let's face it…at the moment, we're merely grasping at straws. Let us grasp, then, in real earnest."

Jack nodded.

"Collins," he called, turning back to Hugh. "I need you to go and find Mr. Albert Nguyen. I'd like to have a further word with him, if he's available. Constable?"

Hugh was still standing by the door, staring slack-jawed at the women engaged in the scene.

"D-Dottie," he stammered, wide-eyed and incredulous. "What are you doing…?"

Dorothy Collins, dressed up in a sleeveless white silk sheath with gold accents at the neck and waist was standing in between two of the other actresses, script in hand, reading somewhat unsteadily from the page.

"Dot's just stepped in to play our Charmian," Phryne informed him, nodding at Dorothy. "Portia found that she couldn't reasonably herself play both that role and the role of Octavian, as it required too many quick costume changes that weren't allotted for in the script. As it turns out, Dot's quite perfect for the part of the devoted handmaiden to the queen. She may have a stage career ahead of her after all."

Dorothy was in the process of delivering a speech to Martha White, who was also clad in a makeshift toga, although Martha's had short sleeves and was more obviously a man's garment; designed to hide curves rather than to enhance them.

"Our worser thoughts heavens mend," declared Dorothy uncertainly. "Um…good Isis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny me a matter of more weight. Oh, Isis, I beseech thee!"

Dorothy threw up her hands towards the heavens in a desperate-looking gesture of supplication to the gods…and dropped her script in the process. Miss White kindly bent down to retrieve it for her.

"Sorry," mumbled Dorothy. "Um…thank you."

"What…?" Hugh was still gazing at Dorothy, looking as though he couldn't decide if he intended to be horrified or intrigued. "Is…I mean, are you sure she's all right with this, Miss Fisher?" Praying to, uh, Isis, was it? That…that sort of thing doesn't bother her?"

"It's only theater, Hugh," Phryne reminded him. "She's not really praying to anyone. It's just an act. I rather think she's thriving, actually, or at least that she will, given a few more days to practice. They do say that stifled people often find themselves drawn to the stage; it gives them a chance to express themselves by stepping out of their own character and into another. Perhaps that sort of thing is perfect for our Dot. She could use a little drawing out of her shell…don't you think so, Hugh?"

"S-stifled, Miss?" Hugh swallowed.

"Come on, Constable," suggested Jack, putting a firm hand on Hugh's shoulder. "Let's not spoil ourselves by seeing too much of the show before opening night."

Phryne grinned at him.

"I've already had seats in the front row reserved for both of you," she said. "Portia assured me that you've already earned your tickets, free of charge."

"That's extremely generous of her," said Jack. "Please inform her, however, that I'm more than happy to pay for my own ticket. I take pride in supporting the arts."

"I'm just glad," retorted Phryne, "that you're planning to attend!"

Jack gave her a little half-bow.

"I wouldn't miss it," he assured her.

As Jack steered a still gaping Hugh back through the doorway into the hall, they came face to face with a broad, muscular man dressed in the same sort of toga-type garment that Martha Miss White was wearing.

"Oh," said the man, glancing up at Jack. "'Pardon. 'Scuse me."

Pushing past them, the man strode over to Phryne and leaned in to whisper something in her ear.

Jack felt the hair on the back of his neck bristling as he watched Phryne eyes dancing at whatever it was the man had told her. She smiled and then arched a brow and said something in return, which Jack couldn't hear. The muscular man laughed and shot her a wolfish grin before returning his attention to Dorothy and Miss White's scene, leaning back against the sofa just a bit too close to Phryne's elbow for Jack's comfort.

"Sir," gasped Hugh, pointing at the man. "Is that…who I think it is? Daniel Kelley, sir? THE Daniel Kelley?"

"I'm afraid so," muttered Jack. "I wasn't aware that he was involved in this production. Miss Fisher…never mentioned him."

"Perhaps he's a replacement," suggested Hugh. "For Miss Grace, sir."

"I thought," mumbled Jack under his breath, "that only women were permitted to take on roles in this company."

Hugh just shrugged.

"We'll have to question him later, of course," he said with renewed enthusiasm. "He, uh, may know something about the murder. Do you think he's a friend of Miss Munroe's?"

Jack, still with his eyes fixed on Kelley, noted the way that Phryne's hand rested briefly and casually on Kelley's shoulder as she slipped past him to take her place for the next scene.

"I rather suspect," he sighed miserably, "that he might be a friend of Miss Fisher's."

* * *

Ten or so minutes later Jack and Hugh were seated at the kitchen table across from swarthy, dour-faced Mr. Albert Nguyen.

"I am very sorry to bother you again, Mr. Nguyen," sighed Jack, slipping resignedly into his usual interrogation preamble, "but we do have just a few more questions for you. I'm certain that it won't take long."

"I should hope not," snarled Mr. Nguyen, his eyes darting to the closed door that led into the parlor. From the other side of the door, Jack could still hear the sounds of the scene taking place; Phryne's confident contralto purring through Cleopatra's speeches followed hesitantly by Dorothy's much fainter and tinnier soprano.

"The less time I spend away from rehearsal, the better," muttered Mr. Nguyen, grimacing and shaking his head. "Just ask your questions, Inspector, and let's have this over with."

"That's a very reasonable attitude, sir," said Hugh, nodding.

Jack frowned. "

"Mr. Nguyen," he asked, "are you usually in the habit of attending rehearsals for the play? I wasn't aware that you were a part of the company."

"I'm not," mumbled Mr. Nguyen. "Usually? Nah, not until today; but you can put money on it that I'll be at every single rehearsal from this day forward until this mess is over and done with. I'll be looking forward to that day."

"And why," asked Jack, "is that, exactly? Not a particular fan of the theater, Mr. Nguyen?"

"That's got nothing to do with it," snarled Mr. Nguyen. "I like the theater just fine. I like it as much as the next guy. It's that no-good excuse for a slimy escape artist that I don't…particularly  _like_."

Again, he shot a nasty look at the door.

Hugh raised an eyebrow.

"Um…escape artist, sir?" He frowned. "Exactly what escape artist would that be, then?"

"You know him," muttered Mr. Nguyen darkly. "Everybody knows him. That actor; Kelley. Daniel Kelley; he's in there now, chanting away and charming the ladies, working his big screen  _magic_  and smiling his goddamned smile."

"He does seem…very popular with the ladies, sir" agreed Hugh.

Mr. Nguyen's nostrils flared, and he slammed both hands down on the table, making Hugh jump.

"Not ALL the ladies," bellowed Mr. Nguyen. "Not my WIFE, dammit. Not this time. Not now."

Jack and Hugh exchanged a quick look.

"Your wife, then," said Jack, very carefully, "has some sort of…history with Mr. Kelley?"

Hugh leaned back a little bit in his chair as Mr. Nguyen gritted his teeth and clenched his fists against the tabletop and stared down at his hands.

"Mark my words, Inspector," mumbled Mr. Nguyen, speaking directly to his own whitening knuckles. "That man is no good. He's a snake; that's what he is. A smooth, slippery, crafty sort of monster with pretty eyes and a silent strike…just like a snake."

Jack cleared his throat, alarmed by the veins pulsing in Mr. Nguyen's wrists and the bloodshot look that had emerged in his eyes.

"Are you," he asked, deciding that it was long past time to change the subject, "very familiar with snakes, Mr. Nguyen? Have you had any experience working with them before?"

Mr. Nguyen paused for a moment, frowning at Jack, and then he took a slow, deep breath.

"None at all," he said, his shoulders slumping as he leaned back in the chair and made obvious efforts to get control of himself again. "None at all…"

* * *

"Well, that doesn't appear to have gotten us anywhere," sighed Hugh after Mr. Nguyen had finally left, presumably to return to the rehearsal. "That is, unless we're interested at all in our prime suspect's relationship with Mr. Kelley."

"Yes," agreed Jack, chewing thoughtfully on his lip. "I think it's safe to say that there was some prior connection between Mrs. Nguyen and the illustrious Mr. Daniel Kelley…although I don't see how that helps us."

"Nor I." agreed Hugh.

Jack sat in silence for a moment, digesting the encounter he'd just had with the furious Mr. Nguyen. Hugh shook his head, looking frustrated.

"Why is it," he asked, "that every time we meet a celebrity through one of our cases, he turns out to be a complete disappointment? First it was Vernon Palmer Jr, who doesn't, apparently, really know how to do any of the exciting stunts that we see him do in the movies, and now it's Daniel Kelley, who turns out to be a cad and a wife stealer."

"Let's not jump to conclusions, Collins," suggested Jack, getting to his feet and stifling a yawn. "Mr. Nguyen obviously assumes that something happened between Mr. Kelley and his wife, but that doesn't prove anything; and for all we know, it may have been the wife who instigated it. Let's not put too much stock in Mr. Nguyen's righteous indignation just yet, shall we? Besides, as it doesn't appear to pertain to the murder in any way, I am delighted to conclude that Mrs. Sadie Nguyen's love affairs or lack thereof are absolutely none of our business."

"Yes sir," agreed Collins. "Of course. It's only that-!"

While Hugh continued speaking, Jack stepped over to the adjoining door and pulled it open, revealing the rehearsal still taking place in the parlor.

Phryne as Cleopatra and Kelley as Antony were standing in the center of the room, gazing longingly into each other's eyes. Kelley had his hands resting firmly on Phryne's shoulders, and as Jack and Hugh entered the room, Kelley began to speak.

"Let Rome in Tiber melt," he intoned in what Jack felt was far too colloquial and common-sounding a voice for a true Triple Pillar of the World. "Let the wide arch of the ranged empire fall! Here is my space. Kingdoms are clay; our dungy earth alike feeds beast as man. The nobleness of life is to do…thus."

With that last line, Kelley suddenly pulled Phryne to him and crushed her against his chest with one arm, passing the other around the back of her neck and kissing her hard, aggressively and intensely. Phryne's eyes flew open for a moment in surprise, and then she slowly shut them again and returned the kiss, albeit, to Jack's meager relief, not as fervently or as passionately as Kelley had offered it.

Eventually he released her, and she pushed away from him, smiling with just a hint of reproach in her eyes as she shook her head at Kelley.

"Hey," he said, shrugging. "It's in the stage directions, right?"

"It is," agreed Phryne. "I know. But I think that was perhaps just a little too much…for rehearsal, at least."

He let out a guffaw, and Phryne's smile broadened.

Jack's heart sank like a stone.

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

I'm having a little fun with this Daniel Kelley character. His personality isn't based on anyone, but the picture I have in my head of the way he looks is based on a famous and very attractive Australian-born actor who has become quite a deal in American film. Can anyo


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Author's Note:** Hmm. Well, much as I love my Jack and Phryne, and even though this story really is about them, I think it's time we got a few more of the other characters involved. We need to clear up some things between Dot and Hugh, and we still haven't seen Cec and Burt, except in Jack's bizarre dream. I'll be trying to incorporate more of those characters in future chapters, but for the moment, let's return to our forbidden romance, shall we?

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

It was after seven o'clock by the time that rehearsal let out. Exhausted and muttering to each other under their breaths, Martha and Annabelle waved goodbye to Phryne and Dorothy and headed back wearily to their own cars.

"It's been a long day, Miss," murmured Dorothy, giving Phryne a tired little smile. "I don't think I've ever talked so much in a sitting in my life. I feel like I could sleep quietly for a week."

"I wouldn't recommend it," replied Phryne, smiling. "Tomorrow is another full rehearsal day; another chance to show us what a budding starlet you really are."

"I wouldn't go that far," said Dorothy, looking slightly alarmed.

"But," insisted Phryne, "you did have fun today, didn't you, Dot? Are you enjoying the part?"

Dorothy apparently had to consider that for a moment.

"I…think I am," she admitted after a thoughtful pause. "It's certainly something that I've never tried before, Miss, and there's always some benefit to a new experience."

Phryne shook her head in admiration. "That's my girl Friday. It will get even more fun, I promise you, as we get closer to the show."

"I'm…a bit nervous about that, Miss," admitted Dorothy. "Honestly, it's one thing to read the lines in front of a few other nice ladies in the parlor, but…being on stage in front of all of those people?" She swallowed hard, and bit her lip. "I'm not entirely certain that I'm going to enjoy that."

"I'll be right there with you every step of the way," Phryne assured her, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. "You'll be brilliant, Dot; just as you always are. You'll shine."

Dorothy smiled and nodded to herself.

"I won't let you down, Miss," she said quietly.

"You couldn't possibly," agreed Phryne. "You never have and you never will."

They walked down the front steps of Portia Munroe's residence together, then hovered for a moment under Dorothy's hastily fumbled umbrella while the rain continued to pelt down around them.

"Oh," murmured Dorothy, looking out at the street. "I thought the Inspector had gone home an hour ago."

Phryne followed Dorothy's gaze and saw that Jack's official police car was parked on the side of the road, just a few feet down the street from where they stood.

"Do you think," asked Dorothy, lowering her voice, "that he's on a stakeout? Is he…is he following someone?"

Phryne smiled and shook her head.

"If he's following someone," she suggested, "then I doubt it's in exactly the way you mean."

Dorothy opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment Daniel Kelley suddenly strode up behind them, clapping a firm hand down on Phryne's shoulder. Dorothy looked up at Daniel, frowning, and as Dorothy cleared her throat and stepped carefully to one side, Phryne thought she saw a hint of distaste in her former companion's eyes.

"There you are, Phryne," drawled Daniel, grinning at her. "Just the woman I've been waiting for. How about you and me snatch a quick dinner on the way home? The food's not too bad at my hotel. Maybe we can run some lines over a hot meal, and…get reacquainted. You know, in the name of 'stage chemistry.'" He laughed.

Phryne gave him smile, but shook her head.

"Not tonight, Daniel," she told him quietly. "I'm afraid I have…other plans."

She glanced over her shoulder at the parked police car down the street, and Daniel's eyes narrowed.

"Oh, you do?" He chewed on his lip for a moment, then nodded and released her shoulder. "All right, then. Maybe another time. Tomorrow night, after rehearsal, maybe."

"Maybe," murmured Phryne, noncommittally. "Goodnight, then."

"Night," replied Daniel.

Without warning, he leaned in and gave Phryne a rough sort of kiss on the side of her neck. The gesture was sudden and surprisingly unwelcome. Phryne shivered a little it and took a step back, still smiling through her teeth, startled by how strongly and unexpectedly her body was rejecting the contact.

"See you tomorrow," he told her in a low voice.

"Tomorrow," agreed Phryne, watching him warily as he strode down the street and turned the corner towards his own car.

"Miss," began Dorothy, glaring at Daniel's broad, retreating back. "Do you…would you like me to come home with you? We could have a nice little drive together, if you'd prefer."

Phryne gave Dorothy a grateful little smile, but shook her head again.

"I'll be fine, Dot," she assured her friend. "Daniel's harmless…only a little aggressive with his attentions. On another day, in another mood, perhaps I'd even be receptive to that sort of rough courtship. More than a little receptive. I have been before."

"Well, I don't like him, Miss," muttered Dorothy, frowning. "Devastatingly attractive or not…he sends little shivers down my spine.

Phryne laughed.

"Oh, he gives me chills as well," she agreed, her eyes dancing, "but only in the best of ways. Don't worry about me. I believe I'll be in safe hands…for this evening, at least."

Still frowning uncertainly, Dorothy nodded.

"All right," she sighed. "Well…goodnight, Miss Phryne."

"Goodnight," replied Phryne. "Get some sleep. You've had a very busy day, and there's so much more to come tomorrow."

"With you," agreed Dorothy, starting to smile again, "there always is, Miss."

Phryne stood for a moment and watched Dorothy climbing into her own car, and then she turned and walked over to Jack's police car.

Jack himself was sitting in the driver's seat, staring fixedly in the direction in which Daniel Kelley had driven off.

"Jack," called Phryne, knocking on the window.

Looking up, Jack nodded at her, and Phryne opened the door.

"You're out late," she told him. "Dot suspects that you're staking out the residence, waiting to catch someone in a suspicious act. Are you?"

Jack's face twitched, but he didn't smile.

"Not precisely that," he muttered, "Not officially at any rate."

Phryne waited, but it took a moment before Jack was any more forthcoming. Eventually he took a deep breath, straightened himself up in his seat, and turned fully to face her.

"As a matter of fact," he told her, "I was planning on asking if you'd care to join me for dinner after rehearsal ended…but I suspect now that you may be engaged elsewhere."

He shot another unhappy look after Daniel's car, then cleared his throat and returned his attention to Phryne's face.

"I don't know about 'elsewhere'," returned Phryne, sliding into the passenger seat and shutting the door. "But I am certainly engaged. As I just told Mr. Kelley, my dance card for this evening is full. That is, of course, assuming that you're as hungry as I am."

Jack looked slightly surprised.

"Starving," he muttered.

"Excellent." Phryne nodded. "In that case, Jack, let us be off as quickly as possible. It's been a very long day and I'm afraid that 'hungry' wasn't quite the word. I haven't eaten since Act Three, and I'm dangerously ravenous. Anything, honestly, will do."

"And, Mr. Kelley…?" Jack let the end of his sentence trail off, raising an eyebrow at Phryne.

She only shrugged.

"No doubt he'll be surrounded by admirers and adoring fans all evening," she retorted. "I wouldn't worry too much; I'm sure he'll be fine. Let's worry about the state of our own stomachs, shall we?"

"Fine with me." Jack adjusted his seatbelt and then frowned thoughtfully at the wheel for a moment.

"I know a place," he said slowly, "that makes an excellent Gnocchi Primavera, if you think you can stomach any more Italian after spending the whole day in Ancient Rome."

"Most of the play," retorted Phryne, "takes place in Egypt, Jack; or at least, my scenes do at any rate. Am I correct in assuming that this particular Italian place is one with which we you are rather…intimately familiar?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, and Jack coughed awkwardly and shook his head.

"Not," he told her seriously, "as far as I recall. As I understand it, Concetta Fabrizzi is recently engaged."

"How lovely for her," Phryne murmured. "I must pass on my congratulations."

She peered for a moment into Jack's face, looking for any sign of disappointment or regret, but Jack was as stoic and inscrutably calm as ever.

"I'm sure she'll be happy to receive them," he said simply. "We'd better hurry, though. As it is, we'll arrive right in the middle of the dinner rush. I'm afraid that there may be a bit of a wait."

They drove through the night in the direction of Strano's restaurant; the place where, only months ago; Phryne had helped Jack solve a complicated and violent case involving feuding families, secret societies and a remarkably pretty Italian widow.

 _What's more,_ thought Phryne,  _Concetta Fabrizzi can cook, which is more than one could say about me. Perhaps Sadie Nguyen was right; perhaps the way to a man's heart really is through his stomach._

* * *

When they arrived at Strano's, it was, in fact, significantly busier than it had been the last time Phryne had visited.

"Ah, Gianni!" Concettta caught sight of them and came hurrying over, her face wreathed in welcoming smiles. "And…Miss Fisher, is it? Welcome, welcome. Please, take a seat. It has been so long."

Concetta took Jack by the arm and then made a movement as though to lean in and kiss him on the cheek. Then, shooting a quick, sharp look at Phryne, she took a little breath and stepped back, gesturing grandly at an empty table in the corner.

"Please," she murmured. "I will be right with you. For you…special service, for old time's sake."

She smiled, and Jack smiled, and Phryne found herself struggling to smile, watching that vaguely intimate look passing between Jack and their hostess.

 _Not lovers, then,_ she thought,  _but old friends…old friends, apparently who have shared intimate feelings, even if those feelings were never consummated. She's a lovely woman…and a fighter, as well. She endured the death of her husband and managed the restaurant almost on her own in the face of all the feuding and domination by the Camorra. She's a strong woman…a proud woman. Exactly the type of woman that would probably be best suited to Jack's temperament. What a shame that she's so recently spoken for._

As Jack and Phryne took a seat at the table Concetta had indicated, Concetta herself retreated into the back, presumably either to summon a waiter or to collect menus.

"This," murmured Jack, "brings back memories."

"It certainly does," agreed Phryne, smiling ruefully at him. "And again, I think I'm on to your little game. I know why you brought me here."

Jack only raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yes," continued Phryne. "You're actually trying to make me jealous. That's it, isn't it? Well, if it is, then I'll admit that it's working...just a bit."

Jack only shrugged.

"For once, Miss Fisher," he returned, "I'm afraid that you're wrong. I was only craving a bit of the best Italian food in the area, and my charming dinner companion said that she was ravenous. That's all."

Phryne just rolled her eyes at him.

"It's not like you," she retorted, "not to admit when I've found you out."

"Not everything," said Jack seriously and quietly, "is a game, Miss Fisher."

Concetta returned at that moment with a pair of menus.

"Scusi," she murmured, depositing them on the table. "A busy night, tonight. I'll come back…we have much to talk about."

When she'd left again, Jack picked up his menu and began examining it carefully.

"Not in a festive mood, tonight, Jack?" Phryne frowned at him. "You seem tired."

For a moment, Jack said nothing in response.

"I mentioned it earlier," he muttered eventually, "but I highly recommend the Gnocchi. You won't regret it."

He fell silent again, and Phryne decided to try a different tack.

"How," she asked, "did it go with Albert Nguyen?"

Shutting the menu again, Jack let out a short breath and looked up at her.

"We had a nice long talk," he told her, "about certain aspects of his relationship with his wife…as you suggested. I'm afraid I didn't learn anything about snake charming or the origin of rare, reclusive reptiles."

"Pity," murmured Phryne.

She waited, but again Jack seemed to have nothing more to say on the subject.

"Jack," sighed Phryne, giving up and sitting back in her chair. "It's all right. If you want to ask me, then ask me."

"I absolutely do not want to ask you," retorted Jack. "It's none of my business, in any case."

Phryne shook her head. "But if it would make you feel better to know," she began, "then-!"

"It wouldn't." Jack cut her off before she'd had a chance to finish the thought. "Honestly, it wouldn't, Phryne. It would likely only make matters worse."

Sighing, Phryne spent a moment examining her own menu, reading absently through the delicious-sounding dishes, somehow no longer feeling nearly as hungry as she had only minutes before.

"I'm sorry," said Jack quietly.

"No," whispered Phryne, swallowing and taking a breath. "I'm the one who's sorry, Jack. But you know…I can't change who I am. I'm even less able to change who I was. The past is in the past; I can't take it back."

"I'm not asking you to," mumbled Jack.

"Then what," demanded Phryne in a low voice, "are you asking me to do?"

Jack looked up at her, opened his mouth, then shut it firmly again and shook his head.

"Nothing," he murmured, in gentler sort of voice. "I'm not asking for anything…not right now. Let's just enjoy dinner. Perhaps that's the best place to start."

"Yes," agreed Phryne in a whisper, "but…to start what?"

Jack didn't seem to have a response to that, and as the pained look came back into his eyes, he dropped his gaze back to the menu.

Phryne felt strangely guilty.

 _But that's ridiculous,_ she reminded herself, a little annoyed.  _After all, I haven't done anything wrong._

"Perhaps," she suggested, "we should get a bottle of wine."

"That might be a bad idea," muttered Jack. "I believe that I'm done with overindulging for the time being, thank you."

On a whim, Phryne reached across the table and placed her hand over his, suddenly and irrationally wanting to touch him, if only to help rid him of that awful, deep, conflicted look.

"Then let's not overindulge," she suggested. "Perhaps we should indulge…just a little bit. Just enough."

It took a second, but eventually Jack nodded slowly and then carefully closed his other hand overtop of hers. The touch was brief and was broken almost at once, but when Phryne placed her hand back in her lap she saw that some of the furrows in Jack's brow had begun to clear.

It wasn't long after that that Concetta returned with a waiter, and a plate of the famed Gnocchi Primavera was ordered…for two.

* * *

 **Author's End Note:** To a certain extent, I think Jack's jealousy is becoming a little unhealthy, here (we see it getting a little unhealthy in Episode 1 of season 3, as welll.) I'm doing that on purpose. Love isn't always gentle and magical, and I think Phryne and Jack are dealing with a real conflict of interest at this point that, if not dealt with in a rational way, may very well become the unealthy focus of the relationship, as serious points of contention so often and so unfortunately do.

As Jack says earlier in this same fic, "the course of true love never did run smooth."


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Author's Note:** Today, my job is to memorize my lines for the first act of Christopher Marlowe's "Edward II." Luckily, I don't actually have that many lines.

I am playing a little game with myself. Every time I memorize a scene, I can write another page. If I memorize the entire first act, I'll probably get through a whole chapter!  
Can she do it, or will she manage to somehow let down both her directors, her castmates, AND her beloved readers?

Only time will tell…

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

The next morning, Jack was up bright and early at the City South police station. He was just unpacking his breakfast at his desk when Hugh and Dorothy walked in.

"Good morning, inspector!" Dorothy placed her bag conscientiously behind Hugh's desk.

"Morning, sir," muttered Hugh, looking slightly put out.

Jack frowned at Dorothy.

"Mrs. Collins," he said. "You're not going to the rehearsal today?"

"Oh, no, I am," Dorothy told him, "but first, there's something I wanted to…well, to check. Hugh promised he'd help me."

Jack turned his questioning gaze on Hugh, who sighed and shook his head.

"Dottie's got some idea into her head that we should be treating Mr. Kelley as a suspect," he told Jack. "I can't see why, really, especially since we're quite sure that Mr. Kelley wasn't in the house on the day of the murder. Since we know that death must have occurred before seven o'clock that day, I can't exactly see how he could be involved, but-!"

"-but," finished Dorothy quietly, "I don't like him, Inspector. There's just something… _not right_  about him."

"Not right,' asked Jack, "in what way, exactly?"

Dorothy didn't immediately seem to have an answer for that, but Jack suspected that he already knew what she meant.

"Might I suggest, Mrs. Collins," began Jack a bit more gently, "that it's not the murder you're concerned about in this particular case? Has Mr. Kelley done something that, perhaps, personally offends you?"

Dorothy winced, then glanced down at her shoes for a moment before answering.

"I don't like the way he treats Miss Fisher," she murmured. "He's always…touching her, and not in a nice, friendly way. He's…well, I think he could be a cruel man, Inspector, if the fancy took him. He's aggressive…and he's big. He's-!"

"He is, as far as I know," interrupted Jack quietly, "free of any previous convictions."

Dorothy frowned. "You're sure?"

"I am," agreed Jack, nodding. "If you promise to keep the matter to yourself, Mrs. Collins, then I'll tell you in confidence that I've already looked into Mr. Kelley's background. His record is perfectly clean."

Dorothy did not look satisfied. "But," she began, "I don't think-!"

"I don't particularly like the way he handles Miss Fisher either," Jack informed her with just a hint of bitterness in his voice, "but as she would be the first to assure us, Miss Fisher is perfectly capable of handling herself…whether we approve of her choices or not."

Dorothy opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again and shook her head at him, pursing her lips and looking irritated.

"I thought," she said hotly, "that you cared for Miss Phryne."

Hugh made a startled sound in his throat, and Jack turned away.

"I do," said Jack quietly. "I'm also well aware of how much Phryne herself would prefer that I keep my professional nose out of her personal life. Any interaction that she may have or have had with Mr. Kelley is hardly my-!"

"I think you're a coward," whispered Dorothy.

"Dot!" Hugh looked horrified, and Jack turned around in surprise to find Dorothy glaring at him.

"Mrs. Collins," he began.

"I'm sorry, Inspector," insisted Dorothy curtly, "but I do. You're so afraid of upsetting Miss Phryne that you're willing to let her get into trouble, just because you know she'd 'prefer' if you stayed out of her personal life. Well I think her personal life is going to get her into some real danger, and a real man wouldn't let his own feelings stop him from protecting the woman he loves…even if it means making things awkward between you. Even if it means not pretending, for a few minutes, that you're so perfectly disinterested."

While Hugh and Jack stared at her in shock, Dorothy turned on her heel and marched over to the door again.

"Looks like I'm going to have to be the real man for both of you," she shot over her shoulder as she flounced back out into the parking lot. "For a change."

After Dorothy had left, Hugh and Jack continued staring in silence for a long moment before Hugh finally found the words.

"I…I am so sorry," he mumbled, clearly scandalized. "I have absolutely no idea, sir, what has gotten into Dot lately. She's…she's not herself. She didn't mean-!"

"I rather think she did, Collins," muttered Jack, rubbing wearily at his right temple.

Hugh slumped into his chair.

"What's worse," sighed Jack, perhaps more to himself than to Hugh, "I think she might very well have a point. Pull up everything we have on Mr. Daniel Kelley, please…again. I may need you to make a few phone calls."

"Yes, sir," agreed Hugh, reaching into his desk for the file.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Portia Munroe's parlor, Phryne and Daniel were seated together on the sofa, watching a scene unfold between Portia, Martha, and Annabelle.

"So," asked Daniel, flashing her a wry smile. "How'd you make out, last night, with your police Inspector?"

Phryne gave him a distracted sort of smile in return.

"I'm not sure if you've been to an Italian restaurant called 'Stranos,'" she said, "but if you haven't, then you should. Jack was absolutely right; the Gnocchi Primavera is to die for."

"You didn't answer my question," said Daniel.

"No," returned Phryne sweetly. "I didn't."

She fell silent again for a moment, and while the scene played on, the door to the parlor opened and Dorothy crept quietly in, shooting a quick look at Phryne and Daniel before taking her own seat in a chair on the other side of the room.

"Dot's late," murmured Phryne.

Daniel grinned.

"Your little friend over there doesn't like me," he informed Phryne. "Every time I turn around, she's giving me the stinkeye."

Phryne shrugged.

"I imagine that it must be a new experience for you," she told Daniel. "Not being adored by a woman, I mean. Is this your first time?"

Daniel laughed.

"It's unusual," he admitted. "I'll give you that much. What do you suppose has got up her ass?"

Phryne was aware that Dorothy was still watching them suspiciously.

"I suspect," she said quietly, "that Dot's loyalties lie in another direction entirely."

"Huh?" Daniel frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Phryne was thinking of Jack, and of the way he'd sat silently at the table the night before, glaring down at his menu and absolutely refusing to discuss the troubles that were so obviously on his mind. She recalled the way his body had relaxed when she'd touched his hand, and again that wave of irrational, unsettling guilt swept over her as she glanced quickly up at Daniel's big, grinning face.

 _I never made Jack any promises,_ she reminded herself firmly.  _He's well aware of it. I have nothing whatsoever to be ashamed of…and I do wish that Dot would stop glaring at us like that._

"Oh," drawled Daniel. "Sure…I get it."

"No," sighed Phryne. "I doubt you do."

"Stop, stop…hold for a moment," announced Portia, sighing dramatically and holding up her hands. "Ladies, let's begin again, from the top of the scene. I need more energy…more OOMPH! This scene can't drag; we need a sense of urgency! Rome is in danger, from sex, drugs, and the wiles of an Egyptian Queen! Let me hear that in your voices and see it in your eyes!"

"This is gonna take a while," observed Daniel, rolling his eyes and kicking his feet back across the armrest. "This is…what, the third time they've run the same damn scene?"

"Practice," Phryne reminded him, "makes perfect, Mr. Kelley."

The scene began again, from the beginning. While the actors tried their best to infuse the scene with the 'energy and oomph' that Portia had demanded, Mrs. Sadie Nguyen snuck in through the half-open door and deposited a plate of tea things on the table before hurrying back out and into the kitchen.

Phryne noted the way Daniel's eyes rested hungrily on Mrs. Nguyen's back until she'd disappeared from sight.

"Jack tells me," Phryne murmured conversationally, careful to keep her voice low, "that you and Sadie Nguyen have a bit of a history, Daniel."

"Does he say that, now?" Daniel snorted a laugh. "It was nothing…nothing particular. Years ago. Nothing for you to worry about, anyway."

Was that," asked Phryne, "before or after she left the sideshow, then?"

Phryne raised an eyebrow at him, and Daniel shrugged.

"She was an eighteen-year-old Vietnamese beauty who could charm venomous snakes," he explained. "It was something unusual, and I liked it, so we messed around for a little while. Then I got my first big acting job, and Sadie met that Nguyen guy, and we haven't spoken since. That answer your question? You're not getting jealous on me, are you? Maybe I might like that. Go ahead…get jealous. I like a feisty, jealous woman."

He grinned, but Phryne only nodded.

"I see," she said.

"Like I said," repeated Daniel. "It was years ago. It wasn't important. Bet she doesn't even know me anymore. We've all changed a lot since then…I'm famous, and she's a housewife."

"Her husband certainly remembers you," murmured Phryne.

"Him, huh?" Suddenly, Daniel sneered, and his eyes grew uncharacteristically cold and serious. "Listen to me, Phryne…you stay away from him. Keep away from that Alfred Nguyen, you got me? He's a dangerous kid; crazy fierce when he gets in the mood for it. He could chew up a lady and spit her back out again, just like one of Sadie's old snakes. Maybe that's why she likes him…or liked him, anyway."

"Not anymore?" Phryne raised an eyebrow.

Daniel frowned and said nothing for a moment.

"You just remember what I said," he insisted eventually, under his breath. "That guy's insane. Wouldn't surprise me if it turned out to be him who'd offed pretty Miss Angie, just in a fit of fire."

Phryne frowned.

"But why," she asked, "would Mr. Nguyen want to hurt Miss Grace? As I understand, they barely knew each other."

"How the hell should I know?" Daniel scowled. "Maybe Miss Grace tripped him on the way in, or maybe she didn't like his wife's tea. Maybe she complained about dust on the sofa; who the hell knows? Could have been anything. Anything and everything pisses Alfred off. He's got a demon down deep in there, burning him up from the inside. He's made of poison."

"I had no idea," remarked Phryne, "that you knew him so well."

Daniel narrowed his eyes at her.

Suddenly, the door to the parlor swung open and Jack and Hugh walked in.

"Good morning, everyone," announced Jack.

"Oh." Dorothy looked genuinely surprised. "Hugh…and Inspector Robinson!"

Phryne noticed that Jack gave Dorothy a quick, significant look before turning and locating Daniel.

"Mr. Kelley," he said. "If you wouldn't mind coming with us? It looks like you aren't needed in the scene, just at this moment."

"Hah," grunted Daniel. "My turn for questions, I guess. Knew I couldn't get out of it forever."

Getting slowly to his feet, he stretched his neck until Phryne heard a pop and then languidly strolled over to where Jack and Hugh were waiting.

"I'm kind of the main attraction of this act," Phryne heard Daniel say as Jack and Hugh led him out into the kitchen. "Better not be gone too long or that delicious little Dottie'll have to stand in for me."

"I'd appreciate it," growled Hugh, "if you'd…try not to talk about my wife like that. It's disrespectful."

Daniel laughed.

"Oh, yeah? Is she your wife?" His voice died away as the door shut behind him. "Welll, let me tell you, you're a lucky man," Phryne heard him say faintly through the closed door. "A lucky, lucky man, Mr. Constable."

Phryne could only imagine the barely contained fury on Hugh's face, and she shook her head, sighing and rearranging herself on the cushions as the scene started up again.

 _Alfred Nguyen,_ she thought.  _Yes, Jack certainly did describe him as an angry sort of man, but that anger all seemed to be directed at Daniel. Is he really the sort of furious person who'd commit a passionate murder like that, or does he, perhaps, just hate Daniel so much that Daniel has only ever seen the wrathful side?_

Glancing over at Dorothy, Phryne was relieved to see that she was now quietly watching the scene, no longer with that angry, pursed-lipped look on her face.

 _Daniel Kelley,_ thought Phryne ruefully,  _does seem to have that effect on people, doesn't he?_

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

I have memorized the first half of act one! Please, dear friends, leave me a review to help push me through the next half of the act! I return, I'll get my memorization done as fast as I can so that I can get you out another chapter before the day is done.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Author's Note:** Wardrobe….! Wardrobe descriptions **, FeBe**? Oh good lord, honestly, I wouldn't' know a hat from a handsaw if it hit me, but I will do my absolute best to try talking about clothes; for you, anything.

Wardrobe. Perhaps I'd better go do some research on the names of different exciting textile colors. That's a place to start, a least. A challenge! Not in this chapter, though. This is sort of a big one.

This chapter is a two-part chapter, but unfortunately I wasn't able to complete the second part tonight. You'll have to wait until tomorrow morning for me to post the conclusion, even though I am leaving off in a bit of an uncomfortable place. Please bear with me; all will be resolved properly in time. Apologies for the delay.

Now, this chapter requires several  **TRIGGER WARNINGS**  for violence and aggressive lack of consent. I don't make a habit of these sorts of scenes, so you're unlikely to see one from me again, but please proceed with caution if you know that something of this nature might cause you psychological stress.  **You have been warned.**

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

_This,_ thought Jack, sighing to himself in some exasperation,  _is becoming a farce._

He was sitting in his car outside Miss Fisher's residence again, and as he watched the lights slowly switching off in the windows, one by one, it dawned upon him that anyone looking out of those windows might be surprised or even annoyed to see a police vehicle lurking at the curb.

He felt like a stalker; like the sort of loathsome hanger-on who couldn't find it in himself to take a lady's hint, or a no for an answer.

 _A strumpet's fool,_ he thought miserably, drumming his fingers on the dashboard and trying, for the third time in thirty minutes, to make up his mind one way or another.

He'd tried to convince himself several times now to get out of the car and to go and knock on the door. The trouble was that, not only had he promised himself that he'd avoid the Fisher residence for as long as possible after his embarrassing profession to Phryne a few days ago, but he was also uncomfortably conscious that he'd now monopolized Phryne's time for three days in a row. That sort of intense attention, he knew, would probably only make her feel restless and stifled, and it wasn't a very convincing argument in favor of his ability to respect her space and freedom, as he'd solemnly assured her that he both could and would.

There was only one light on in the house, now, and Jack was sure that he could make out the shadows of people moving about in the drawing room.

The file he'd requested on Daniel Kelley was lying open on the seat next to him. In the back of his mind, he could still hear Dorothy Collins accusing him as she'd stared him down at the police station that afternoon, managing to look angry and frightened at the same time.

 _I think you're a coward,_ echoed her voice in his harried brain.  _You're so afraid of upsetting Miss Fisher that you're willing to let her get into trouble just because you know she'd 'prefer' you stayed out of her personal life….and a real man wouldn't let his feelings stop him from protecting the woman he loved._

From the inside of the house, someone laughed a high, ringing laugh. Gritting his teeth, Jack shoved the file on Kelley under the seat and turned away.

 _This is madness,_ he reminded himself.  _There's no reason for me to be here. She's obviously already happily engaged for the evening, and no amount of wishful thinking is going to make her need a knight in shining armor…no matter how much I may want an excuse to swoop in to her rescue. There is nothing wrong with Daniel Kelley. The only man in the wrong here is me. I can't get the nerve to go in and I'm too jealous to leave. I'm the one with the problem; Phryne is perfectly capable of dealing with any of her own without the help of a lovesick madman._

 _She doesn't,_  he told himself firmly, _need me at all._

* * *

Meanwhile, in Phryne's drawing room, Phryne and Daniel were taking the opportunity to get in some private scene practice over drinks.

"Eros," growled Daniel, reciting Antony's lines from memory. "Mine armor, Eros!"

Unfolding himself form where he was lounging splay-legged on Phryne's sofa, he stood up and crossed over to her in two quick steps.

"Sleep a little" murmured Phryne as Cleopatra.

"No, my chuck," said Daniel in a remarkably low, suggestively gravely voice. "Eros, come. Mine armor, Eros!"

He paused, and Phryne raised an eyebrow at him.

"Eros enters here," she said.

"That's right." Daniel frowned for a moment, then nodded. "Come, good fellow," he continued, resuming his firm, aggressive Antony voice and stance. "If fortune be not ours today, it is because we brave her. Come!"

Again, he paused briefly as they both pretended to wait for Eros to struggle with the armor.

"Nay," murmured Phryne, "I'll help too."

Closing the distance between herself and Daniel, she reached up and slowly began fingering his tie.

As soon as Phryne touched him, Daniel dropped character for a moment and gave her one of his hungry, wolfish grins, and Phryne suddenly found herself reluctant, even slightly disgusted by the idea of undressing him. Abandoning the tie, she took a small step back and continued the lines in her best attempt at a clear, resonating Cleopatra voice, doing her best not to be alarmed by how much she found herself inexplicably repulsed by the intensely seductive, devastatingly attractive man in her front room.

 _I used to find him so very alluring,_ she thought.  _I suppose that I've just had my fill. Too much of a good thing is never so good after all._

"Ah, let be, let be," snarled Daniel as Antony, belying the lines by catching Phryne by both hands and drawing her closer to him. Phryne forced a smile and managed not to pull away.

"Thou art the armorer of my heart," hissed Daniel, staring directly into her eyes, his own eyes flashing amorously. "False, false…this, this."

Again, he lifted her hands in his and placed them flat against his chest. Phryne could feel the rapid, excited beating of his heart through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"Sooth la," she recited, "I'll help. Thus it must be."

The scene felt strange and unexpectedly awkward, and Phryne found that the energy in the room just didn't feel right. She couldn't focus on the lines, and every time she looked up into Daniel's face she found that in the moment, she really couldn't picture him as Antony.

 _Antony,_ she thought,  _is a kind man…a hard man and a firm man, but not a cruel man. He's a man who loves deeply; so deeply that it scares him, and every other valid concern in the world pales in comparison to the depth of feeling that he can't deny. It's his great tragedy, and ultimately his downfall. He's a sympathetic figure, a man you can't help but love, in spite of and even for his many selfish, romantic flaws._

"Is this," recited Phryne distractedly, "not buckled well?"

She was vaguely aware that Daniel had begun repeating the next line, but by now she wasn't really listening anymore. The more she tried to focus on Daniel's portrayal of Antony, the more she heard Jack's voice in her head, reciting the lines in his deep, melodious, soft-spoken tones; the same tones that he'd used to beg her earnestly to try and love him only a few days before, standing drunk and desperate on her front step. She pictured Jack's face as she heard Antony's lines, and she remembered what it had felt like to have his arms around her as he, as Marc Antony, had professed his quiet passion for her in that lyrical, literary way that seemed somehow to suit the somber, stoic Inspector so ridiculously well.

"…should see a workman in't." finished Daniel finally.

"Daniel," began Phryne, but he didn't give her the chance.

Before she'd had time to say anything more, Daniel obeyed the next stage direction, leaned eagerly in and kissed her soundly and firmly on the mouth.

Phryne's mind rejected the kiss with such force that it shocked her for a moment, as Jack's face loomed up in her thoughts again, vaguely sorrowful and disappointed. She found that she wanted to reach out to Jack, wanted to reassure him, and in that horrible, startling moment she understood. She remembered the gentle, almost wondering way that Jack had kissed her almost a week ago when she'd first run this same scene with him. It had been a hesitant and careful contact at first, then slowly more and more passionate and deep until she'd been able to feel and taste just how much he cared for her…so much that it had been frightening and exhilarating at the same incredible time

. Just thinking about that kiss sent little shivers down Phryne's spine, and she started to push away from Daniel's chest, attempting to free herself from the embrace.

"Daniel," she said, a bit louder this time. "Stop. I…I've rather lost track of the scene. Perhaps we should-!"

"Don't worry," he assured her, grinning against her lips and tightening his hands around her waist. "I know where we are. I bet you're gonna recognize the next part."

His hands slid down to her hips and he gripped her hard, his tongue sliding against her lips and then forcing them apart as he pushed it into her mouth.

Alarm bells began ringing in Phryne's head, but she forced herself to keep smiling, carefully keeping as calm as she could as she wrenched her face away from Daniel's, swallowing hard and looking up into his eyes with that carefully friendly smile still plastered on her face.

"Daniel," she said, a bit more firmly this time. "I'm sorry, but…I'm afraid I'd rather not, tonight. England was really a very long time ago…and I'm afraid that I've moved on. I do hope you're not too disappointed. We'll always have London…and those gaudy nights."

She gave Daniel a gentle, apologetic sort of look, and then pushed very firmly against his chest, hoping he'd release her.

The look on Daniel's face had changed, now, every-so-slightly, and though he, too was still smiling there was something more angry than hungry in his eyes, and his grip on Phryne only tightened until he was clutching her far too hard, his fingers digging painfully into her hips.

"Aw, come on, Phryne," he hissed, shaking his head at her. "Don't give me that. You invited me here for a reason, right? I've felt the way you look at me. We've both been craving it…and tonight, we're gonna have it; that off-screen magic of yours, just once more, for old time's sake. You know we've both been looking forward to it. Doesn't hurt that you're a killer Queen of the Nile in that dress...if you can call it a dress."

He kissed her again, hard and insistent, and Phryne's mind raced as she struggled to get an arm free enough to reach for her handbag on the sofa where her pistol lay concealed.

He had her arms pinned tight, and after a moment Phryne realized that there was no chance of the revolver. Instead, she'd have to try another tactic.

Taking a deep breath, she stamped down hard on his foot with the sharp point of her stiletto heel. Daniel roared in pain and briefly released his grip, and Phryne used the opportunity to dart towards the sofa. Daniel grabbed a hold of her skirts, tripping her and sending her crashing to the carpet, but she managed to get her legs free again and kicked out at him as he threw himself down alongside her. He wrapped one arm around her and began tearing at her blouse with thick, rough fingers. Phryne managed to roll on top of him and for a moment, she had the upper hand, but Daniel was a large man, and it wasn't long before he had her pinned again. She shoved at him, and when he pushed her back again her head cracked painfully against the floor beneath the carpet, and her mind swam.

"I've always loved that fire, Phryne," whispered Daniel in her ear as he slid her skirts down over her hips, pressing rough fingers into her skin as he started upright. "That fighting fire you've got in you. It's a beautiful, terrible thing. Draws me like a moth to a flame every time. That's my girl…"

Phryne, now slightly nauseous with the pain in her head, wrapped her legs around his and tried to fling him overtop of her and into the corner of the coffee table.

She was weak from the blow to the head and didn't quite succeed, but she did manage to shake him off balance enough to send him sprawling back over top of her onto the floor. Reaching out with both hands, she fastened her fingers around his neck, but he shook her off again, no longer smiling at all, and started to his feet.

Slightly delirious and entirely focused on fight or flight, Phryne barely realized what happened next until it was already over. Daniel managed to stagger fully upright, and then something crashed down hard over his head and he bellowed with rage, his eyes rolling back in his head as he tumbled backwards and just barely avoided hitting his head on the table corner after all.

Phryne spun around to reach for the handbag, but Mr. Butler was already there, holding a heavy iron candelabra in one hand and Phryne's pistol in the other, both of them levelled directly at Daniel Kelley.

"I'm…sorry, Miss," panted Mr. Butler. "I seem to be…just a little late. The connecting door to the kitchen is rather...more effectively soundproofed than I'd previously realized."

Daniel wasn't moving, now, and there was a large red lump forming on his head, presumably where the candelabra had connected with his skull.

"He's not dead," Mr. Butler assured her. "At least…I don't believe that I hit him that hard."

"No jury on earth," whispered Phryne, managing the hint of a smile, "would convict you, Mr. Butler, if he was. Thank you. Let's not tell anyone about this, but I seem to have rather lost control of the situation."

Mr. Butler only inclined his head.

"My pleasure, Miss," he murmured, averting his eyes politely as he reached out to help her to her feet. "I'm sure that if I hadn't stepped in, you would have had everything suitably sorted out in no time."

Pulling a blanket from the back of the sofa, Mr. Butler discreetly passed it to Phryne.

"It might be best," he said conversationally as she wrapped it hurriedly about herself, "if we took this opportunity to phone the police."

Behind them in the hallway, someone suddenly began banging frantically on the door, and Mr. Butler turned and glanced in the direction of the noise.

"Ah," he said nodding. "Or…perhaps we needn't, after all. Excellent timing, Inspector."

Phryne's eyes went wide.

"Jack," she whispered, as her heart flew into her mouth. "Oh...oh no. Not now."

**Author's End Note:**

Yikes.

Okay, I'd like to take this opportunity to briefly discuss the importance of consent.

I humbly request that PLEASE, no one say anything like "well it's her fault for inviting him over in the first place," or "she should have known better than to kiss him if she didn't want him to go after her."

If you do have those thoughts, please keep them to yourself. Consent is a big deal.

This has been a public service announcement. We now return you to your regularly scheduled ficcing.

Don't worry; that part is over. No more of that, as far as I know.


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Author's Note:** I actually managed to get some sleep last night, and I'm ready to tackle what will really be the trickier part of this chapter.

Thank you so much for continuing to read and review. It makes my morning every time I wake up and see that someone has enjoyed a piece of my story. Really means a lot to me, and you're all truly being wonderful about being supportive and encouraging. Thank you very, very much.

And would you look at that? We've made it all the way through twenty chapters (and a prologue!)

* * *

 

**Chapter Twenty**

Jack had just turned on the car and was preparing to roll back home with what was left of his pride when he heard the crash.

It wasn't a particularly loud sound, muffled as it was in the residence walls, but it obviously came from the house. When Jack turned around to look through the drawing room window, there was something distinctly wrong about the silhouettes in the candlelight. There was something angry in their movements now, and as he watched, they got closer and closer together, almost too close for an intimate embrace. It almost looked as though they were struggling.

One of the figures stumbled, and then they were both rolling around on the ground, maybe. Jack couldn't see them anymore, as the low light, the furniture, and the angle of the window were all in his way. He heard what sounded like a dull thud, and then his brain finally switched into high gear and he shut off the car again, jumping to his feet and bolting out onto the street as fast as he legs would carry him.

"Phryne," he yelled, banging hard on the front door with both fists. "Phryne! Mr. Butler! What's going on in there?"

No one came to answer the door. Inside the house there was another crash and then a silence during which Jack almost forgot to breathe. He strained his ears listening for signs of life.

For a long time, nothing happened, and all Jack could hear were the nightbirds and the sounds of lazy motorcars rolling up and down a nearby street as he continued to pound mercilessly on the door.

Just as he was preparing to leave the door and to return to the big window to see if he could get in that way, the front door finally creaked open and Mr. Butler was standing there, slightly flushed but otherwise unruffled and holding a heavy, iron candelabra casually in one hand.

"Good evening, Inspector," he murmured, stepping aside to allow Jack entrance. "Your timing is almost perfect. Miss Fisher will be with you shortly, sir; she is momentarily indisposed. If you'll only wait-!"

Jack, however, had no intention of waiting. Pushing rudely past Mr. Butler, he rushed headlong into the drawing room where he found Phryne, wrapped in a throw blanket with a trickle of blood running down the side of her face. She was hunched over what looked like the dead body of Daniel Kelley, and when she heard Jack's harried footsteps she turned and looked up at him with a rueful sort of half-smile on her lips.

"Hello, Jack," she whispered.

Jack's stomach lurched.

"Are," he heard himself ask in a raspy voice that didn't sound much like his own at all. "Are you-?"

"I'm fine," she assured him gently. "I'm just fine, Jack. It's all right."

She stood up to go to him, and as she came she pulled the blanket more tightly around her, temporarily revealing the torn hem of her skirt and a piece of gold trimming hanging down across her neck where part of her blouse had apparently been ripped away.

Jack's throat went dry, and he swallowed hard.

"Miss," murmured Mr. Butler, emerging from the hallway with a clean towel in one hand and a violet satin kimono hanging from the other.

"Thank you, Mr. Butler." Phryne took the things, laid the robe across the arm of the sofa and then sank down alongside it, gently dabbing at her left temple with the towel.

Jack was still having trouble getting his mouth to form words. His eyes fixed for a moment on the prone form of Daniel Kelley, and he tried and failed not to imagine the horrible scene that must have been taking place here while he'd been sitting and arguing with himself in the car.

"I suggest," murmured Mr. Butler at Jack's side, "that you take this…gentleman in to the police station, sir."

"What," managed Jack, "is his crime, Mr. Butler?"

"Assault upon a lady, sir," replied Mr. Butler. "He's not dead…I believe. I only hit him the once. At least I am certain that he was breathing before I went to answer your knock."

"Assault," whispered Jack.

" _Attempted_  assault, Jack," piped up Phryne from the sofa.

Somehow, Jack found that the correction didn't make him feel any better.

"I suggest," continued Mr. Butler, "that you remove Mr. Kelley as quickly as possible from my carpet, Inspector. He's suffered a bad blow, and if he remains here much longer I can't promise that he won't suffer another."

For the first time, Jack really focused in on what Mr. Butler was saying. He heard the hard, steely note in Mr. Butler's voice that he was sure he'd never heard there before, and there was something cold in Mr. Butler's eyes, now, that belied the polite little smile eve-present on the man's face.

"Quite so, Mr. Butler," Jack muttered, nodding. "I'll…I'll get Collins to come and collect him. Might I use your telephone?"

Mr. Butler led Jack into the kitchen where Jack made a brief call to Hugh, arranging for him to come by the Fisher residence immediately.

When Jack returned to the drawing room again Phryne had changed into her kimono, and there was a fresh bandage plastered over her left temple. The throw blanket had been carefully folded and replaced on the back of the sofa, and Mr. Butler was hovering nearby in silent attendance.

"He's on his way," Jack informed them both.

Mr. Butler nodded.

"You might perhaps wish for me to accompany Constable Collins to the station as well," suggested Mr. Butler, frowning down at Kelley on the floor. "After all, I am fully responsible for Mr. Kelley's present…condition, and I believe that assault on another man is still a crime, whether I considered the action justifiable in the moment or not."

"I wouldn't say 'fully responsible,'" returned Jack. "Besides, Mr. Butler, I saw nothing. I have only the evidence of the drawing room and your own word that you struck him; I'd consider that evidence…highly circumstantial. Hardly sufficient to make a case."

He tried to smile, but his face felt stiff and awkward, and his muscles barely obeyed.

Mr. Butler did smile, inclined his head, and then quietly slipped out of the room, leaving Phryne and Jack alone.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Then, very slowly, Jack strode over to the couch and seated himself on the opposite end, as far away from Phryne as possible, careful to give her as much space from his masculine presence as he could.

Phryne sighed.

"You don't have to do that," she assured him. "I'm not afraid of you, Jack."

"I'm sure you're not," retorted Jack. "As a matter of fact, you seem remarkably composed. I don't suppose there is anything, Miss Phryne Fisher, that does upset or frighten you." 

Phryne smiled a sad, faraway sort of smile.

"Yes," she said simply. "There is. There are more terrible things in this world, I'm afraid, than aggressively amorous actors."

"Like spiders, for example," said Jack.

"Other than spiders," whispered Phryne. "Although…I'll give you that, yes. Spiders are scarier than Daniel Kelley any day of the week. Spiders can be poisonous. Daniel's only a disgusting fool."

Jack only nodded, not entirely certain what he was even talking about. The idle conversation, he was sure, was meant to try and ease his mind and calm his nerves, but something about Phryne's calm and totally unperturbed demeanor seemed to be getting to him. He found that he was irritated, even angry, although his anger didn't have a concrete target, and it only ended up making his head feel heavy and his mind feel numb as he wrestled with a dully aching mishmash of guilt, shame, rage and misery.

"Well, Jack?" Phryne was looking at him with the ghost of a rueful smile in her eyes again. "No reprimands for me?"

"What?" Jack blinked distractedly at her.

"Aren't you," she went on, sighing a little under her breath, "going to accuse me of being too free with my company? You're not angry that I've finally been so irresponsible in my choice of male visitors that I've recklessly brought this inevitability upon myself?"

Jack stared for a moment, then stiffened and swallowed.

"I'm not a very good man, Phryne," he quoted quietly, turning away from her, "but I think I'm a better one than you're giving me credit for."

Phryne's smile faded, and she let out a short, frustrated breath.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Perhaps I am a little unsettled after all."

"It's understandable," replied Jack, shaking his head. "And…I feel that I may have brought that last little biting departure of yours upon myself."

Phryne only shrugged.

Jack cleared his throat.

"May I," he began.

"Yes," interrupted Phryne before he'd had a chance to get the words out. "Please do. I don't particularly feel like being a rock of stoic solitude at this precise moment."

She sidled a little closer to him on the couch, and Jack carefully reached out and clasped her hand in both of his.

"You are all right," he insisted. "You promise me?"

"I do," agreed Phryne seriously. "I'm perfectly fine, Jack. Much better now."

They sat in silence for a while with their fingers laced together until Phryne straightened up a little bit and turned to face him again.

"There's something that I think I should tell you," she said.

Jack had a feeling that he knew what it might be about, and he hastily shook his head as a knot began forming in his stomach.

"Not now," he insisted. "Not when you're…in such a vulnerable state."

"I'm no more vulnerable now than I have ever been," retorted Phryne.

"I am," returned Jack simply. "For my sake, then."

Phryne sighed.

"All right,' she agreed, and then they lapsed again into silence.

After a moment, there was a familiar knock at the door, and Mr. Butler appeared to admit Hugh, along with another junior ocnstable and a pair of handcuffs.

"Miss Fisher!" Hugh's eyes went wide when he saw the scene, and he gulped as he gave Phryne a startled, searching look. "You're…you're okay, are you?"

"I'm fine, Hugh," repeated Phryne, smiling and nodding at him. "My gallant hero, the valiant Mr. Tobias Butler came rushing to my aid with weapon in hand."

Jack's heart shuddered in his chest, and for a moment the guilt was overpowering.

"Mr. Kelley isn't likely to put up much of a struggle," continued Phryne, getting to her feet and going to meet Hugh. "He's been thoroughly knocked out, although I'd have a special care with him when he does start to wake up. He's abnormally strong, which I suppose we should expect from an actor who's notorious for leaping through burning buildings and wrestling trained lions and other such terrible creatures on a regular basis. Mr. Kelley, without question, does all of his own stunts."

She winked at Hugh, but Hugh only shot a disgusted look at Mr. Kelley, then strode over and, with the other policeman's help, began prying him roughly off the floor.

"Charges, sir?" Hugh raised an eyebrow at Jack.

"Assault," sighed Jack, "and battery. We'll go into more detail at the station when he wakes up. As for Mr. Kelley's head injury-!"

"Head injury, sir?" Hugh gritted his teeth, feigning grim surprise and keeping his eyes carefully fixed not on Kelley's head, but on Jack's face. "What head injury is that, then?"

Hugh and Jack exchanged a quick, understanding look, and then Jack nodded.

"Very good, sir," agreed Hugh. "See you back at the station. Miss Fisher…glad to see that you're okay."

"Thank you, Hugh," murmured Phryne. "I…honestly, I'd rather you didn't mention this to Dot, if you can help it."

Hugh just shrugged.

"Best tell her yourself, Miss," he suggested. "She'll find out one way or another. Better she hears it from you. Probably be easier for both of you that way." 

With that, he and the other policeman turned around and began forcing the prone form of Mr. Kelley between them out and down to the car. Mr. Butler carefully closed the door behind them, and Jack listened to the sound of the police car driving off into the night.

"Daniel really is rather strong," said Phryne quietly. "Even I was surprised. I have some experience at getting the upper hand in a fight, but in this case I found that I lacked the requisite brute strength entirely. I'll admit that it was a humbling experience. Perhaps it's time for me to pursue further training in self-defense. I may be losing my touch."

"I should have known," muttered Jack. "I had every indication that this Kelley was a vicious man, and yet I did nothing. I had every opportunity to step in. I should never allowed you to-!"

"No one," said Phryne quietly but without rancor, "allows me to do anything, Jack. You have nothing to be ashamed of. This has nothing whatsoever to do with you."

Jack shook his head.

"I don't agree," he retorted. "It has everything to do with me, Phryne. You have everything to do with me, whether you like it or not." 

Phryne opened her mouth to protest, but Jack cut her off before she could begin.

"I know," he insisted. "I know that you're a powerful woman in your own right that you don't need a man to do for you or to defend you from anyone, but the fact remains, Phryne, that I had every evidence that this Kelley was a dangerous man, and yet I  _wasn't there._ You could have been-!"

"But I wasn't, Jack," insisted Phryne warningly. "Let's not start this all over again. Everything's going to be all right, now. The crisis is over. The worst is passed. There's no reason for us to dwell on it any longer. It's absolutely not your fault, Jack; the only person to blame here is Daniel himself. Are you listening to me?" 

"Alfred Nguyen," mumbled Jack, shaking his head, "called Kelley a snake; a 'crafty monster with a smooth tongue and a silent strike,' and I paid it no attention at all because as far as I knew, it was only the ramblings of an angry, jealous man, with no relation to the case. I should have-!"

"Jack," hissed Phryne suddenly, sitting bolt upright on the sofa. "What did you just say?"

"What?" Jack blinked at her. "That Alfred Nguyen was a jealous, angry man?"

"No," insisted Phryne eagerly, excitement in her eyes again. "About Daniel. What did Alfred Nguyen say about Daniel, exactly? Please, this could be important."

Jack couldn't understand how it could possibly be important, especially right now, but he took a breath and tried to remember what Nguyen's exact words had been.

"He said," repeated Jack slowly, "that Daniel Kelley was a man like a snake; crafty, smooth, and silent."

Phryne's eyes widened, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

"That," she told Jack triumphantly, "is almost exactly how Sadie Nguyen described the qualities of a snake catcher. She said that any man who could catch an Inland Taipan in the wild would have to be…crafty, smooth, and silent. Those exact qualifications. That's not a coincidence, Jack; it can't be. Those two are very clearly describing the same man."

Jack's eyes narrowed.

"Daniel Kelley," he muttered. "He's our snake catcher."

"He's the man," agreed Phryne," who originally gave Sadie her precious snake; I'm sure of it, now. If he could do it once-!"

"Then he might have done it again," agreed Jack, getting quickly to his feet. "I'll telephone Hugh right away. He'll want me down at the station to assist with the interrogation."

Jack started for the kitchen, and Phryne followed quickly after him.

Turning on her, Jack frowned and shook his head.

"You're in no condition," he informed her. "You've had a blow to the head; and what's more, I don't want you anywhere near Daniel Kelley; not now, and not ever."

Phryne's eyes flashed.

"Why not?" she asked sweetly. "Are you afraid that I might do him a reciprocal injury, in recompense for the Cleopatra costume that he's so thoroughly destroyed? This was made in France; I can't get another exactly like it." 

Jack let out a short breath.

"Not if I get to him first,' he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Phryne. "I'd rather have a go at him myself before I let you finish the job."

Phryne smiled.

"That'll never do, Jack," she told him. "You're an officer of the law; you can't go around assaulting suspects. I suppose now I'll have to go along, if only to hold you back."

For a moment, Jack thought he was going to protest, but before he'd thought up the right words, Phryne was halfway up the hall stairs.

"I need to get dressed," she explained before disappearing, presumably into her own bedroom.

Jack had no choice but to sit unhappily by the door and wait.

* * *

 

**Author's End Note:**

Huzzah! We've successfully completed the twentieth chapter, and a very complicated episode!

Things are starting to move a little faster, now. We'll be getting into the meat of the climax before you know it.

And now, I have to go and do one of the fourteen other things on my incredibly bizarre to-do list for today. I'll see if I can find some time to write again a little later.


	22. Chapter Twenty One

**Author's Note:** I am absolutely overwhelmed with how much encouragement you have been willing to give me. If you are reading this and taking time out of your day to spend with my little story, I genuinely adore you. Thank you so much. I feel so incredibly rewarded. I am a very happy girl. I will do my best not to disappoint.

In confess, though, that eventual disappointment is inevitable. I won't be able to update multiple times a day once August ends. I happen to be on vacation from two of my jobs, at the moment. That won't last forever. :( I'll try to make the absolute best of while I can, though!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty One**

"But we know that Daniel couldn't' have killed her," mused Phryne as she and Jack sped towards the station in his police car. "He wasn't in the house on the day of the murder; that's certain, unless the entire household, Portia herself included, is covering for him. I can't really see that."

"No," agreed Jack. "Much as I like the idea of Kelley being guilty, I don't think he's our murderer. He's an accessory at best."

"Hmm," murmured Phryne, staring fixedly out the window, chewing thoughtfully on her lip. "I suppose, then, that it must have been Sadie after all. She's presumably the only one who knows how to handle a Taipan. If it's her snake, then it's most likely to have been her crime."

Jack shook his head.

"But it couldn't have been," he reminded Phryne. "Remember, Portia Munroe assured us that both the Nguyens left the house that night to go to the pictures. Miss Munroe even heard the car pull away."

"Not necessarily," countered Phryne. "She heard  _a_ car pull away, certainly, but it wasn't necessarily the Nguyens. That's only what she thought at the time."

Jack frowned. "What are you suggesting?"

"Do you remember," asked Phryne, "what Martha White told us about the evening of the murder? Martha was suffering from some sort of throat complaint; she had to return home in the middle of rehearsal to retrieve her medicine. It might actually have been  _Martha's_  car that Portia heard leave the residence."

Jack's eyes widened in surprise.

"In that case," he muttered, "The Nguyens could have been present the entire time. If that's true, then we should suspect him equally as much as we suspect her."

Phryne shook her head.

"I don't think so," she insisted. "I highly doubt that Daniel Kelley would have lifted a finger to help Alfred Nguyen commit a murder, as he so clearly must have helped with this one. That is, unless you think that Mr. Nguyen's righteous indignation in response to Kelley's presence in the house was really just an act."

"No," admitted Jack. "I don't think it was."

Phryne nodded. "Well, then."

"Still," continued Jack, "none of this explains just how Angie Grace factors into the picture. Even if Mrs. Nguyen turns out to have had the opportunity, what motive could she have had to murder a woman she apparently barely knew? Other than the women at the rehearsal, they don't appear to have had any mutual associates or friends."

"They were both performers, Jack," retorted Phryne. "Surely they knew some of the same people. They could have known each other in passing, surely."

"A former snake charmer and a budding Shakespearean actress specializing in pants roles?" Jack gave Phryne a doubtful look. "I honestly can't imagine any stage act which might have encouraged a meeting of those two minds."

"It's not so hard to imagine," murmured Phryne, but even she had to admit to herself that the pairing was unlikely. "All right, then, how about this? Perhaps the conflict between Angie and Sadie really did take place at Portia's during the rehearsal process. What if Angie learned something about Sadie during the rehearsals that Sadie didn't want her to know; something that she was terrified someone else would find out?"

Jack nodded slowly.

"Something," he said quietly, "like the knowledge of a forbidden dalliance with a handsome screen actor?"

Phryne smiled.

"Even if it's true that Daniel wasn't in the house on the evening of the murder," she said triumphantly, "that doesn't mean that he'd never been to the house before. Mr. Nguyen obviously had some reason to believe that Daniel and Sadie had been involved in the past. What if they were still involved? What if that was what Sadie Nguyen wanted to hide, and what Angie Grace so disastrously discovered? Mr. Nguyen seems like a volatile man; she'd be desperate to keep the knowledge of her affair from him; perhaps even desperate enough to commit murder."

"Murder…with a snake," mumbled Jack, still sounding somewhat unconvinced. "That hardly indicates a crime of passion. Mrs. Nguyen would have had to plan some time in advance to commit murder with a venom-tipped needle."

"The snake venom," argued Phryne, "speaks of a more…imaginative sort of intelligence; a creative brain who has had plenty of experience with the extravagant and shocking."

"The mind of a screen actor," supplied Jack.

"A mind," agreed Phryne, "used to dealing with…unlikely and over-the-top sorts of situations. A mind steeped more in experiences with action and drama than with logic and calculation. And yet, to a certain extent, it was a very calculated murder…a murder calculated to be so ridiculous and unexpected that it would throw a reasonable, logical police detective entirely off of the scent; leading him to flounder around interviewing snake charmers and researching the history of stage acts."

Jack raised an eyebrow at Phryne.

But not you," he said. "I take it that you were never so 'thrown off?"

Phryne laughed.

"I'm afraid that I've been just as equally at fault as you have," she admitted. "It's only that I doubt Daniel planned for me. Somehow, I suspect that our meeting wasn't expected. If I hadn't come along and distracted him from the matter at hand, he wouldn't be in police custody now…and he'll have a much harder time defending his present position from the inside of a cell than he would have done as a free man. Poor Daniel has a bit of a wandering eye…and when he wants something, he can't help but take it, even if he really does know better than to get involved. I suppose that he and I have…some similarities, in that respect."

She gave Jack a smile, but Jack only scowled and turned away.

"I'd rather you didn't compare yourself to that creature," he muttered.

"He's only human, Jack," returned Phryne quietly. "I'm not excusing what he did, but…in the end, aren't we all just slaves to our passions?"

"Not all of us, no," said Jack stonily.

Phryne just gave him a sympathetic look and shook her head.

"To different extents," she insisted, "I think that we all are. Some of us act on our instincts and make terrible, animalistic mistakes, like Daniel. Others waste away with longing; just as much a slave to our fiercer desires, if less willing to compromise others to achieve our satisfaction. There's nothing wrong, Jack, with being a passionate person…with having depth, and feeling, and intense desire. That's not a crime in and of itself."

Jack didn't seem to have any sort of response to that. Clearing his throat, he turned his attention back to the road, and subsequently so did Phryne.

It was only then that she noticed that something was very wrong.

By this time they were pulling around the corner, and the City South police station was in sight at the end of the block. Surprisingly for the late hour, several men in uniform were milling around outside the station, and there were several police vehicles lined up at the curb with angry-looking officers chattering at each other alongside them.

"A busy night, apparently," murmured Phryne.

"I don't like this," muttered Jack. "Everyone should have gone home by now. Something's up. Look, there's Collins."

Hugh caught sight of Jack, and as Jack pulled the car up the curb, Hugh ran over to meet them.

"Sir," gasped Hugh. "There you are! I've…I've been trying to reach you; I called Miss Fisher's house, but Mr. Butler said you'd gone. I'm…very glad you're here, sir."

"Hugh," asked Phryne urgently, "what's going on?"

Hugh had been clutching at the right side of his head, and when he removed his hand Phryne saw the large, swollen red lump on his skull.

"Where," demanded Jack curtly, "is Kelley?"

Hugh swallowed hard.

"I…I don't know," he admitted miserably. "He hit me, sir, just as we were getting out of the car. I didn't even realize he was awake; he must have been faking. He took off around the back of the station, and Constable Walker and I went after him, but…we lost him, sir."

Hugh looked miserable, and his head looked like it really hurt.

"I'm sorry sir," he muttered dejectedly, unable to meet either Jack or Phryne's eyes. "We think he must have climbed up on the roof. I went up to check, but…when I finally made it up there, he was gone. He's…he's loose, sir, probably somewhere in the station. I'm sure he hasn't left the area; we've been keeping a careful eye on all the exits."

"Oh, good," sighed Jack, gritting his teeth. "If only you'd kept as watchful an eye on the prisoner. That would have been preferable."

Hugh flinched, and Phryne shook her head at him.

"It's not your fault, Hugh," she insisted. "He's a powerful man and an unpredictable one. Look, now we match."

She tapped gently at the bandage on her own left temple, and Hugh awarded her with a weak half-smile.

"We have the perimeter surrounded," mumbled Hugh. "Kelley's not going anywhere, Inspector."

Jack frowned around at all the activity.

"That's a lot of officers present just to hunt down a single unarmed prisoner," he muttered.

Hugh shifted unhappily on his feet.

"There's…more, sir," he said with a little sigh. "Not long after Mr. Kelley broke from custody, Constable Thompson, who was on duty at the time, claims to have heard shots. We…we found Mr. Alfred Nguyen lying dead in the interrogation room a few minutes later…shot through the skull, sir, with a small caliber pistol."

"Oh," whispered Phryne, opening her mouth in surprise.

Jack stared.

"I thought," he snapped, "that Kelley was unarmed!"

"He is, uh, he is, I'm sure of it," insisted Hugh quickly. " I've still got my gun, sir, and both Thompson and Walker are sure that there were no unattended weapons on the premises. Everything's been accounted for, Inspector…it wasn't one of our guns, and he couldn't possibly have brought along one of his own."

"Then, if it wasn't Daniel who fired those shots," murmured Phryne thoughtfully, "there must be someone else hiding out in the station…an accomplice, it seems."

Hugh just nodded, swallowing.

"Mr. Nguyen was here in the first place," he told Phryne quietly, "because he was, uh, looking for his wife. He…claimed she'd disappeared an hour or so before. They were trying to find her, sir, when we arrived with the prisoner."

Jack took a deep breath.

"I think," he sighed, "that we've found her, Collins."

"Or at least," agreed Phryne, "we have a good idea of where she might be. Getting her out of the station might be another matter entirely."

As Phryne finished speaking and Jack stepped out of the car, a familiar cab pulled up alongside them, stopping with a screech and a jolt. After a moment, Cec and Burt both piled out, looking murderous and hard, with their jaws set in thin, hard lines.

"You all right, Miss Fisher?" Cec strode quickly over and gave her a searching look. "Mr. Butler called us, just a minute ago. Told us what happened."

"Where the hell is the bastard?" Bert was staring fixedly at the police station. "You think he's still in there, somewhere? We're going in."

"I'm afraid I can't allow that, Mr. Johnson," declared Jack, stepping in front of Bert and giving him an unyielding look. "This is a very serious police matter, now."

"Yeah, well, for us it's a very serious personal matter," snarled Bert. "What, are you just gonna let him get away with it after what he did to Miss Fisher? What the hell kind of a man do you think you are, huh?"

"Hey, knock it off," muttered Cec, taking Bert roughly by the arm and shooting Jack a wary look. "Look, Inspector, we're just here to help. Let us go in there and smoke him out, would ya?"

"It's gotten a little more complicated, Cec," said Phryne. "There's been another murder, this time in the station. We think there might be someone else in there with him…someone with a gun."

"Hell," hissed Bert. "Who is it this time?"

"We…don't actually know for certain," admitted Hugh, "but I suspect that it might be…Mrs. Nguyen."

"Killer dame," sighed Bert. "Wouldn't have thought that a bastard like that'd have much a way with the ladies. Guess looks really are everything."

"Not everything," murmured Phryne absently, "but they certainly help. In any case, there are five of us and only two of them. Perhaps if we split up and search the station in pairs, we'll be able to watch each other's backs. Cec, you and Bert go in through the front entrance while Jack and Hugh try from the back. Perhaps you can trap them in the center somewhere. Just be sure to find them before they find you."

"Right, "muttered Bert. "Don't worry about us, Miss."

"And, uh, where will you be, Miss Fisher?" Hugh didn't look too pleased.

"I'm going to try to find and reason with Sadie," Phryne informed him. "I'm more likely to succeed if I approach her alone. She's not a terribly hard woman, really, and now it's far too late to turn back. She's probably terrified. She may be looking for a way out that doesn't involve killing every officer between her and the door."

"What?" Cec stared. "No way."

"Not a chance," snarled Bert. "You'd be a sitting duck. She's already killed one guy."

Phryne turned to Jack for support, but found him shaking his head, his jaw already set.

"Out of the question," he muttered. "If you must go, Phryne, then you're coming with us….and you're staying behind us, where you're out of the line of fire."

"Jack," began Phryne, frowning.

"Don't argue," interrupted Jack before Phryne could finish the thought. "I've already left you in danger once tonight. You can be as self-sufficient as you want when this is all over. For now, you'll follow my orders as commanding officer, or I'm assigning a constable to keep you out here, and so help me, Phryne, but he'll be authorized to use force if that's what it takes to keep you safe. Do you understand me?"

Phryne started to protest, but she could see from the cold, almost desperately hard look in Jack's eyes that there wouldn't be any point in putting up a fight.

"Very well," she said w with forced airiness, taking a deep breath and trying not to look as disappointed as she felt. "I suppose I have no choice, then, but to endure your company."

"Luck, Inspector, Constable," muttered Cec, as he and Bert started towards the guarded front doors to the station. "See you inside, probably."

"Be careful in there," called Hugh. "The escaped is no pushover!"

Bert turned around briefly and grinned an ugly sort of grin.

"Oh good," he snarled. "Neither am I, mate."

Jack nodded at the officers guarding the front door, and they parted briefly to let Bert and Cec inside. Once the doors had closed again behind them, the officers resumed their posts, and Phryne sighed and turned expectantly to Jack.

"Well then," she suggested. "Shall we be off? Let's not leave them in there all alone."

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and started determinedly for the back door, leaving Jack and Hugh to rush after her.

"Wait, Miss," called Hugh, stepping conscientiously in front of her and forcing her to stall. "Uh, it's probably best if you let us go first…don't you think?"

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

This is, unfortunately, another two part chapter that I just wasn't able to finish in a single sitting. Again, I sincerely apologize, but I'm going to have to leave you on a cliffhanger until tomorrow morning. I do seem to be getting into the habit of this.

While we're waiting for me to get my act together and finish the rest of the episode, I have a question for you.

I'm very curious to find out what country or part of the world my readers are from. Where are you reading from? I know that we have Ireland and New Jersey representing, and I myself am from Washington, DC.

It's just pure curiosity; don't feel obligated. Just a whim of mine. I'm always fascinated by how many unexpected places fiction can reach on the internet…and I'm overly social (it might be a terminal case of friendly.)


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

**Author's Note:** …

Such an overwhelming response. All night my phone was pinging with reviews and pleasant friendly responses to my questions about where you live!

I woke up this morning, looked at my phone, was amazed by the number of people who'd taken the time to message me…and then I started to cry, because feelings. (I'll admit it. I'm comfortable with who I am as a woman; there were tears, and I am not ashamed. Sort of. A little. Anyway….)

G was like "WHAT IS WRONG WHAT IS HAPPENING WHO DIED?"

No one was dead, of course, I was just deeply startled and very, very happy.

Thank you so much, and hello to all of you incredibly wonderful people from places all over the exciting world!  
Perhaps in a future story I'll have to have Miss Phryne do a little bit of world traveling…she can visit some of the places where you all hail from.

Not now, though. Now, it's time to get back to our dramatic climax.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Two**

As far as Jack could tell, the inside of the darkened station was deserted when he, Phryne and Hugh crept as quietly as they could in through the heavily guarded back door.

"I can't see anything," muttered Hugh unhappily.

"Well we can't risk a flashlight," retorted Phryne. "We don't want them to see us coming."

Something clunked loudly in the room next door. Hugh froze, Phryne frowned, and they all slowly turned towards the noise.

"Probably just Cec and Bert," murmured Phryne.

Hugh let out an exasperated little sigh.

"Not much risk of the killers hearing us, Miss," he muttered. "They'll be too busy listening to those two. Not terribly subtle, are they?"

Phryne laughed under her breath.

"Cec and Bert have other excellent qualities," she assured him, "but I'll agree that subtle isn't the word. Still…that works out rather well for us, doesn't it? While Cec and Bert distract our runway murderers…we pounce."

Flicking her pistol out of her handbag again, Phryne began advancing slowly on the door to the interrogation room.

"Not so fast, Miss Fisher," muttered Jack, stepping in between her and the door and turning to frown severely at her. "If anyone's going to be doing any pouncing, it had better be me."

Phryne rolled her eyes at him.

"You know, Jack," she said, "you're becoming rather a bore about all this."

"You'll have to cope," retorted Jack. "For once in your life, Phryne, try to take this seriously. For me."

"What? But this is the fun part!" Phryne sighed. "Catching the criminal, Jack; that's our very best game, the one at which we're most effectively partnered. Isn't there anything that we can have fun doing together anymore?"

That stung, and as Jack swallowed and tried not to show her just how accurately she'd hit home with that comment, Hugh suddenly held his finger to his lips and spun around to face the door to the bathroom.

"Someone's in there," he whispered. "I just heard…uh, something."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Something, Constable?"

"Y-yes, sir," mumbled Hugh, frowning. "Something like…like a sliding sound, as though something was being dragged across the floor."

"There's a skylight in there," muttered Jack. "Perhaps they're trying to make their way back to the roof again."

Phryne looked startled.

"A skylight in the bathroom?" She shook her head. "Well, that's an unusual choice. Hardly lends itself to the most possible privacy, which is what I'd have assumed would be desirable, even in a police toilette."

Jack studiously ignored her.

"On my signal," he said, taking two careful, slow steps forward and reaching out for the door handle. "One…two…three…!"

With a quick, steadying breath and a single heave, Jack threw open the door and then slammed it firmly shut again behind him.

"Aah!" Hugh sucked in a sharp breath and hastily backed himself up against the door as they all got a good look at what was waiting for them beneath the skylight.

Sadie Nguyen, with her eyes wild and her skirts dirtied and torn, was standing on the sink, still clearly too short to reach the opening in the ceiling. Some of her fine black hair had fallen down out of its confinements, and as it hung around her shoulders it provided the perfect shelter for the sleek black head and scaly copper belly of the coiled snake that was draped loosely around her neck.

"Sir," whispered Hugh urgently.

"I see it, Collins," muttered Jack, keeping his eyes focused warily on those of the reptile.

"Sadie," called Phryne urgently. "Why are you doing this? Why kill Angie? What had she ever done?"

"It wasn't what she had done," whispered Sadie in a small voice, not sounding at all like the cold blooded killer that Jack was now sure she had to be. "It was what she…what she said she  _would_  do. She wasn't a nice woman, Miss Fisher…she was mean! Mean as a snake! She was cruel, and cold, and calculating…and she didn't like me because Daniel likes me, and…and so she was going to tell, and ruin everything. I couldn't let her, Miss Fisher. I couldn't let her. Alfred would have killed me. I had no choice!"

"She was going to tell him about Daniel," murmured Phryne. "About how the two of you were planning to run away together. Isn't that right?"

Sadie just nodded. "He was going to take me with him to Hollywood, in America," she whispered, half-smiling in a horrible sort of miserably hopeful way that made Jack's stomach twist. "Angie wanted him to take her…and so she was angry, and she was bitter, and she…she was going to destroy it all, out of malice. Out of jealousy! She wasn't a nice lady. She wasn't-!"

"Where," demanded Jack, "is Kelley now?"

Sadie paused, looking startled by the topic change. Then she glanced up at the skylight and shook her head in apparent bewilderment.

"Daniel?" She frowned. "I don't know…he's gone, now. He got away. You'll never…you'll never find him."

Again, she smiled, but this time there was less hope in the smile and more of a sort of manic desperation.

"He left you here," whispered Phryne, shaking her head. "All alone, to face the law by yourself? How could a man like that be worth killing two people for?"

"Because he loves me," replied Sadie simply. "He loves me, Miss Fisher. He has always loved me. That is enough."

"If he really loved you," countered Phryne, "then he wouldn't have put you in this position. That's not love, Sadie; it's only selfish desire."

Sadie shut her eyes and took a deep breath.

"But I love him too," she said quietly, slowly reaching into the waistband of her skirt and drawing out a small pistol. "And when you love someone, Miss Fisher, you forgive, and you forget, and…and you make sacrifices."

"Phryne," hissed Jack.

"It's all right," murmured Phryne. "She isn't going to shoot me….are you, Sadie? You're going to come back into the station with us, and you're going to help us find Daniel Kelley, and for that the jury might be willing to commute your sentence."

Sadie only shook her head.

"No man," insisted Phryne, "is worth this. No man is worth throwing everything away."

"You're wrong," whispered Sadie. "You're wrong. I want, someday, for you to find that man who is worth everything, and then to think of me and to smile and to know that there is such a thing as a love for which you would take any risks, but…I am going to shoot you. I'm sorry, Miss Fisher."

As she leveled the pistol at Phryne's head, Sadie really did look sorry. She looked, in fact, as though she were going to start to cry.

Hugh drew his own gun and aimed it at Sadie's chest.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mrs. Nguyen,' he mumbled. "We have you covered. There's no way out. Give yourself up now, or-!"

Suddenly, the snake around Sadie's neck reared backed and lurched forward, baring its poisonous fangs.

Startled and slightly panicked, Hugh involuntarily squeezed down on the trigger, firing off a shot directly at Sadie Nguyen.

Sadie herself dropped to her knees, dodging the bullet in the sort of startlingly fluid way that perhaps only a professional carnival performer ever could.

The combination, however, of the gun's loud bang and of Sadie's sharp movement angered the snake. Before anyone had a chance to react further, the snake hissed wildly, threw back its head and then sank its bared fangs deep into Sadie's neck, eliciting a piercing, strangled scream from her that Jack was sure he'd hear in his nightmares for years to come.

Hugh fired another shot and then another, and this time one of the bullets struck the snake's flank. Sadie collapsed into a twitching heap on the ground, moaning softly and flailing her arms around her, while the snake, its eyes already clouding over in death, fell limply to the floor alongside her.

Phryne darted forward and bent down to examine both snake and mistress.

"It's dead," she whispered. "But she's…not quite."

"Get back, Miss Fisher," cautioned Hugh.

Phryne only shook her head.

"There's no need, Hugh," she assured him quietly. "It'll all be over soon…for both of them."

The bathroom door suddenly burst open again, and Cec and Burt came running in with weapons drawn.

"Miss Fisher!" Cec shot a quick, startled look at the dying murderess and her serpent companion. "Whoa. Looks like you found 'em, huh?"

"Collins," barked Jack. "Go and get a doctor…quickly. If there's any chance that she can tell us where Kelley's gone…"

Even as Hugh sprinted off for the doctor, however, Jack could tell from the contorted, frozen look on Sadie's face that there couldn't possibly be enough time.

* * *

Much later, as the evening crept relentlessly into the wee hours of the morning, Phryne and Jack sat at Jack's desk while Jack poured them both a stiff drink.

"Poor Sadie," sighed Phryne.

Jack only raised an eyebrow at her.

"Your 'poor Sadie,'" he reminded her, "murdered two people. It's not like you to be overly sentimental in cases likek this."

Phryne only shrugged.

"Perhaps," she suggested quietly, "I'm going soft."

"I doubt it," retorted Jack.

Pulling his desk chair around to sit alongside her, Jack passed her the drink, and watched as she took a careful sip and then a deep breath.

"You may have been right," he muttered, "about what you said before; about how we're all slaves to our passions. Mrs. Sadie Nguyen certainly seems to have been."

"If only," murmured Phryne, smiling sadly, "it had been a reciprocal passion. I don't believe for a moment that he loved her as much as she loved him. When you really love someone, it must be impossible to abandon them, even when you know that it's in your best interests…and perhaps in their as well."

Jack raised an eyebrow at her.

"When," he demanded, "did you become such an expert in the truth about love?"

Phryne said nothing, but only shook her head.

Jack took a deep breath, then downed his drink in a single, bracing swallow and placed his tumbler back down on the desk.

"Oh well," he said quietly. "You may be right…but there's something beautiful still to be said for the power of an unrequited love. She may have been right about that, at least; a lack of reciprocation doesn't make the feelings any less real."

"Jack," began Phryne softly.

Jack swallowed, averted his eyes, and immediately changed the subject, absolutely unwilling to endure her pity, even for a moment.

"We've got every available officer out there searching for Kelley," he informed her. "We've placed roadblocks at every significant intersection. He can't have gotten far."

"I'm sure he's already long gone," countered Phryne, shaking her head. "He's a resourceful man."

"Yes," agreed Jack, frowning. "A resourceful man, but with nothing left. His career is over and his fame is forfeit."

"A man with nothing left to lose," Phryne reminded him quietly, "can be a very, very dangerous man, Jack."

Jack nodded.

"We'll have a guard stationed at your residence through the night," he assured her.

"That won't be necessary," insisted Phryne. "Unless, that is…you're planning to come yourself. I don't think I'd mind so much if you stayed the night."

Startled, Jack glanced sharply over at her.

"I'm not teasing you, Jack," she told him seriously. "I mean it. I'd feel safer with you there."

Jack gave her a long, searching look, trying to read her and failing to find any telltale signs in her face of what she was really after.

"Why me?" He frowned. "I…I can assure you, Phryne, that every other office on this force is equally qualified to serve as an effective armed guard. Collins, for example, or-!"

"But if I know where you are, Jack," whispered Phryne, her expression flickering for just a brief and unexpectedly unguarded moment. "If I know that you're with me, then I know that he can't hurt you."

Jack froze, surprised and unable immediately to come up with a response.

"He's going to come back for us, Jack," Phryne continued, tapping her fingers idly on the side of her glass and staring at it with an intensity of feeling that Jack wasn't used to seeing in Phryne's face. "The woman he loved is dead; or even if it wasn't really love, the woman he sacrificed everything for. He's going to come back…and when he does, it's us he'll want to pay for what he's lost. That's who Daniel is, I'm afraid. When he sets his heart on something, nothing can keep him from getting it. Nothing and no one. We've seen that from him before, and I know we're going to see it again, unless we find him first."

"I won't let him hurt you," Jack assured Phryne. "I will  _never_  let him hurt you again. I promise you that."

Phryne just shook her head impatiently.

"You don't understand,' she whispered, sounding almost irritated.

Jack waited, but she didn't elaborate.

"I'd like to," he said simply.

Phryne let out a short, frustrated sort of sigh.

"You asked me once," she reminded him quietly, "if there was anything that that I was truly afraid of."

Jack reached out hesitantly for her hand, and she took a deep breath, gazing quietly into the contents of her glass.

At that moment, the door to the station burst open and Dorothy Collins bolted in, followed, more sedately, by Hugh.

"Miss!" Rushing over to Phryne, Dorothy threw her arms around her former employer and hugged her tightly, apparently totally oblivious to Jack's presence in the room. "Are you all right? I've just heard! What a monster! You're not hurt, are you? Oh, I could just-!"

"I'm fine, Dot," murmured Phryne, laughing under her breath and hugging her friend. "Everything's all right now. Goodness, you're shaking. I'm quite all right, I assure you. We're all perfectly all right, now…aren't we, Jack?"

Phryne turned and gave Jack an expectant sort of smile, but Jack wasn't fooled.

Even as she broke the embrace, Phryne kept one hand tightly on Dorothy's shoulder, and though Phryne kept smiling, Jack could see a cold, frantic sort of fear lurking in the very back of her eyes that sent an angry chill rocketing down his spine. It was an uncharacteristic fear, a fear that he'd only seen there once before, back in the doubtful days of escaped convicts and too many unanswered questions. It was the fear created by the man Murdoch Foyle, a fear that Jack had really begun to believe or maybe only to hope was gone for good.

"I'm coming back with you, Miss," Dorothy informed her, taking it upon herself to fetch Phryne's coat from the rack by the door. "We're going to make you a cup of hot tea and put you to bed…although I suppose it's already far past time for that sort of thing. Tomorrow's nearly here, and this time it absolutely will not be a new day for adventures of any kind. You need to rest. Even for you, Miss, there can be a such a thing as too much excitement."

Surprisingly, Phryne didn't put up much of a fight, but instead allowed Dorothy to help her into her coat.

"Jack's coming with us as well," she informed Dorothy, reaching under the desk for her handbag. "He suggested that we post a guard outside the house, and what better guard to have than the Detective Inspector himself? I believe our brave night's work has warranted that much, at least."

"Very good, Miss," agreed Dorothy, shooting a relieved little look at Jack. "Hugh will join us, of course, and Cec and Bert will be there, and we can all have a nice cup of tea at home together-!"

"-where the valiant Mr. Butler," murmured Jack, smiling ruefully, "will no doubt be able to ward off any unwelcome visitors."

"Mr. Butler," retorted Dorothy, "if he has any sense, is asleep."

"That didn't seem to stop him the last time," retorted Jack, as he, Hugh, Dorothy and Phryne walked out of the station together.

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

I will admit that I stole that gimmick right out of a one of the most famous murder mysteries of all time...and if you can tell me which one, you deserve a cookie!

I had a much longer more serious author's note that I wanted to post, but I chickened out and so I will save it for another time.


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

**Author's Note:** So, I just met you and this is crazy, but I learned from my little location research experiment that there are at least FIVE of you reading who live in the DC metro area (Maryland, Virginia, DC.) Would those of you who are a) over the age of eighteen and b) living in DC metro be interested in getting together and having a little Miss Fisher's party? Let me know if it's something that appeals to you.

Don't worry; we'd meet first in a populated public space during a reasonable daylight hour, because safety first, loves.

No pressure, just a thought. G might even be willing to dress up as my butler and serve us tea. He's an actor, so it wouldn't too totally weird for him. Maybe. He'd probably do it for me, and he doesn't look at all bad in a nice suit. We used to dress up in our vintage clothes and go dancing years ago, before we both became so broke and exhausted that leaving the house for anything other than work became a chore. What a drag it is getting old…

And now, back to our show.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Three**

The next few days dragged on at a bizarre pace that was somehow harried and sluggish at the same time, leaving Phryne nervous and unsettled, restless and unable to focus for too long on any one task.

She did her best to stay busy and positive, not to dwell on the uncertainties of where Kelley was and what he might be doing, but the longer she went without any news, the more frustrating and nerve-wracking it all became.

Phryne Fisher wasn't in the habit of letting trifles slow her down or upset her too much. Subsequently she was exceedingly careful not to let on to anyone else that her nerves had been acting up in all sorts of unusual ways, but with each passing night she had more and more trouble sleeping, finding that she was far too on edge to close her eyes anymore in the dark.

Two days after Phryne had apprehended Sadie Nguyen, there was still no sign of Daniel Kelley. The police were at their wits end trying to locate him, and although an extensive search had been made spanning the whole of the area, there had only been one potential sighting phoned in. An elderly woman in St. Kilder claimed to have seen a man who looked 'just like that charming actor' getting on a train bound for an unspecified destination; the woman couldn't remember having observed where the train was going.

Two days after that, the wealthy sister of a private commercial pilot in Swan Hill reported having seen Kelley leaving her brother's home just after ten o'clock at night. By the time Phryne and Jack had gotten to Swan Hill, the pilot and his plane were already long gone, apparently without having told anyone where they were headed.

"He's almost certainly left the country by now," Phryne told Dorothy over breakfast the next morning, although even as she said it, Phryne realized that she only half-believed it. Part of her still expected him to be out there somewhere, hiding on a rooftop, perhaps, or having charmed his way into the basement of some kind, movie-loving old lady who never read the news and had designs on him for her daughter, or something of the kind.

"Yes, Miss," replied Dorothy. "It's a shame, but at least he's far from our problem anymore. Hugh says they're absolutely tearing their hair out over him at the station…and of course, Hugh's very personally involved." She frowned. "They…well, they're saying it's his fault that Mr. Kelley got away in the first place, but I don't really think that's at all fair."

Phryne only nodded.

"It isn't fair, Dot," she agreed. "Daniel is a dangerous man and a difficult one. He turned out to be more than a match for me, physically at least, and so I can't in good conscience blame Hugh for letting him slip away."

"Hugh was the one who saved Inspector Robinson's life, Miss," murmured Dorothy loyally. "He shot that snake just as it was about to strike, didn't he?"

Phryne nodded.

"He saved my life too," she said quietly. "I won't forget that in a hurry."

"Well then," murmured Dorothy, as if that was the end of the matter. Then she paused for a moment, bit her lip and sighed, shaking her head.

"One might argue, though" she said, a bit more quietly and with a good deal less certainty in her voice, "that it was Hugh's shot that made the snake turn on poor Mrs. Nguyen."

"As Jack seems to so enjoy reminding me," countered Phryne, "poor Sadie had already committed two murders of her own by that time. She got what was coming to her, I suppose. Hugh had no choice."

Dorothy nodded glumly.

"But it is still true, Miss," she insisted, "that if Mrs. Nguyen hadn't been bitten by that snake, then she might have been able to tell us where Mr. Kelley is now….isn't it?"

"She'd never have told us," Phryne assured Dorothy, shaking her head. "She was entirely in Daniel's thrall by the time we found her in the station bathroom. She did exactly as she'd promised to do; she made that sacrifice for love. It couldn't have ended any other way."

Dorothy still didn't look totally convinced.

"Well," she began, sitting up a bit straighter in her chair and clearly making an effort to lighten the mood a bit. "Be that as it may, life goes on, Miss Phryne. We've got rehearsal in an hour."

Phryne finished the last sip of her tea, popped the last bit of toast into her mouth and then stood up from the table, taking a deep breath.

"This," she told Dorothy, "is not going to be very much fun, I'm afraid."

Dorothy nodded sadly.

"I can only imagine what poor Miss Munroe must be going through," she sighed. "After all, she and all of you, really put so much hard work and time into creating this magnificent production…and of course, there's absolutely no way that the show can go forward, now. We've already gone through two Antonys. Not even a really good actor could learn the part in less than two weeks, and besides…I'm really starting to believe, Miss, that the role might be cursed after all."

Phryne gave Dorothy a rueful sort of smile.

"Don't you dare let Portia hear you saying that," she admonished Dorothy as they both pulled their coats form the rack and started out towards the car. "You'll put ideas into her head. Jack's only just managed to convince her that Antony and Cleopatra is not, in fact, a cursed play."

"Perhaps," suggested Dorothy, "he's wrong."

Phryne snorted a laugh.

"I"m surprised at you Dot," she teased gently. "A good catholic girl like you isn't supposed to believe in things like curses and dark sorcery, is she?"

Dorothy blinked, then coughed and spent a moment looking somehow confused and self-righteous at the same time.

"I never said," she murmured after a moment, "that I believed any of it, Miss. I only said that...well, that the Inspector  _might_  be wrong. There's no harm in that, is there? Come on, we'll be late."

* * *

"Phryne, darling," begged Portia as she, Phryne and the remaining performers sat around in the parlor, gazing helplessly at each other with their abandoned scripts in a pile on the table. "You know everyone, Phryne! You're the social butterfly of all the local artistic circles! Surely you must know  _someone_  who could step in to the role of Antony! This is dire straits, a true emergency. Lady or gentleman, I don't mind, so long as he or she has a quick mind for memorization and a compelling presence. There is someone, I'm sure there is. Think, Phryne, please, think!"

"I'm truly, sorry, Portia," insisted Phryne, "but I honestly l can't think of a soul. It's a busy time right now for the theater. Everyone I know who works in the theater is either presently engaged or traveling…and in some cases, both."

Portia moaned dramatically and threw herself down on the sofa beside Martha, who gave her a slightly nervous but sympathetic little pat on the shoulder.

"Miss," suggested Dorothy, hesitantly putting up a hand. "What about Inspector Robinson? Hugh says that the Inspector has quite a passion for Shakespeare. He might be willing to help out…if you asked him."

Portia stood up again abruptly.

"The handsome inspector," she whispered, widening her eyes in eager surprise,. "Oh, Phryne, he's perfect. He's  _divine_  for the part. That voice, those eyes…and the way he never smiles; he was just  _born_ to play Antony. You absolutely must get him. Work your feminine wiles, and-!"

"I'm…really not sure he'd be interested," murmured Phryne, thinking of Jack standing in her drawing room, nervously intoning Antony's lines in his deep, soft-spoken way. He'd been shivering and keeping his eyes fixed on the script as he tried stoically to pretend that he hadn't noticed the way Phryne's fingers were creeping up his collarbone, caressing the skin just beneath the top button of his pressed white shirt.

She imagined him dressed as Antony in Daniel's gold-trimmed toga, standing center stage with the lights beating down on his face, turning to face her with his arms outstretched, ready to embrace her with all the power and yet also all the gentleness of the besotted Roman general and the passionate police detective combined into one majestic man.

Phryne shivered a little, relishing the daydream. The more she thought about Jack, the more excited she found herself becoming at the prospect of playing Cleopatra to his Antony.

 _They're roles that we've been ready to play for a long time,_ she thought, smiling to herself.  _Ever since Guy's engagement party, when we had the Antony and Cleopatra costume pair._

The smile faded again as that pleasantly scintillating memory gave place to another, far less enjoyable one.

 _That,_ she reminded herself,  _was the_ _place where I first realized that Murdoch Foyle was still alive._

And then, in the back of Phryne's mind where the little trickle of doubt had been quietly, unsettlingly lurking for days, something went wrong.

Suddenly Phryne found that it wasn't Jack anymore who was wearing the gold-trimmed toga in her daydream. Instead, she was imagining Daniel Kelley taking her in his arms, as he had that fateful night in her drawing room. When Daniel opened his mouth, somehow he laughed with Murdoch Foyle's voice, freezing Phryne's blood as his arms squeezed her body against him like the coils of a serpent. There were, inexplicably, people from Guy's engagement party ringed all around them. Daniel as Antony was professing his love to her in his dark, gravelly way, using Shakespeare's words but none of the right intonations, bearing down on her as Jack stood in the background, with Foyle's fatal goblet pressed to his lips, gazing sadly at Phryne out of the depths of his dark eyes as he prepared to drink the last dregs of the poison.

"No," whispered Phryne, her eyes going wide. "Stop it… _stop."_

"Miss Phryne! Miss, are you all right?"

Phryne suddenly snapped back to reality, returning her attention to the present. Dorothy was shaking her gently by both shoulders, looking seriously alarmed.

"I'm…I'm fine, Dot," murmured Phryne, taking a quick breath and a step back. "I'm sorry…I don't know what came over me. Perhaps I'm just…a little tired."

She attempted a smile, aware that her heart was beating much faster than it should have been. The room felt somehow much colder and stranger, now, in the wake of the daydream that had become daymare. Around her, all the other ladies were staring.

"Are you sure, Miss?" Dorothy frowned, not looking at all convinced. "You're white as a sheet! Perhaps we'd better go."

"Nonsense!" Phryne laughed, and she was pleased to hear the laugh come out sounding much less shaky and nervous than she suddenly felt. "I was only daydreaming It's nothing."

Portia let out a laugh in return, and as if on her cue, the others laughed with her.

"Dreaming about your handsome Inspector, no doubt," Portia declared. "Who could blame you, Phryne? He is a treat. You will share him with us, won't you, darling? It would be the saving of our lives…and of a good deal of invested funds, quite honestly."

Phryne, however, found that the idea of getting Jack involved in the production was no longer at all appealing. She could still hear his gentle voice reciting Antony's lines in her head, and something ached inside her chest as she shook her head emphatically, waving Portia's suggestion away with one hand.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," she said quietly. "Jack's very busy right now with the investigation into Daniel's disappearance, of course. I'm sure he wouldn't be able to spare the time."

Portia deflated like a punctured balloon.

"Of course," she groaned dejectedly. "Which of course brings us back to the root of our all our problems; Mr. Daniel Kelley. Oh, I'd had such hopes! What a splendid Antony he would have made. It's a terrible shame."

Phryne shot Portia a sharp look.

"He was an accessory to the murder of two people," she reminded Portia, raising an eyebrow, "and he's a fugitive from the law."

"Not to mention," piped up Martha unexpectedly, glaring at Portia, "what he did to poor Phryne!"

Startled, Phryne glanced over at Martha.

"How on earth," whispered Dorothy, eyes wide, "does she know about that? Well, don't look at me, Miss. I didn't say anything."

"Gossip," murmured Phryne, with just the hint of a bitter smile, "travels ever so quickly, Dot."

"Oh of course, I know, I know all about Daniel," insisted Portia, fluttering her hands distractedly. "A disgraceful human being, certainly, but such a powerful, alluring presence! Such a noble profile! That charisma of his would have drawn quite an impressive house. You do know what I mean, I'm sure."

She looked beseechingly at Phryne.

"Yes," replied Phryne coldly, finding that she could no longer return the smile. "I'm afraid that I do know exactly what you mean about his 'presence.'"

Portia looked surprised by the intensity of Phryne's response, and Phryne herself was alarmed by how her nausea seemed to be worsening.

"Miss," insisted Dorothy urgently, "you really do look horrible. I think you need to go and lie down."

Taking a deep breath, Phryne straightened up and nodded, aware that Dorothy might have a point, and that suddenly she no longer particularly wanted to finish the rehearsal, in any case.

"Very good, Dot," she murmured, allowing Dorothy to take her by the arm. "A little bit of rest and relaxation does sound like a remarkably good idea just at this moment."

While Dorothy marched Phryne through the hallway towards the front door, Phryne could already hear the other women beginning to whisper behind them in the rehearsal room.

The whispers mingled with the lingering laughter of Daniel Kelley in her head, and with the echoes of the last thing that Portia had said before Dorothy had stepped in.

 _Such an alluring presence,_ repeated Portia in Phryne's exhausted brain.  _That charisma of his…such a noble profile!_

"I think," suggested Dorothy pleasantly as they strode down the front steps together, "that you'd best wait here, Miss, while I call Cec and Bert. We'll have Bert drive you home in the cab, and Cec can drive your Hispano-Suiza for you, so we don't leave it out here all night. How does that sound, then?"

"That sounds lovely, Dot," murmured Phryne distractedly, stopping in her tracks the moment that Dorothy let go of her hand. She wanted to plug her ears against all the nightmare noise in her head, and when she sank down to sit on the step, she was relieved by just how good, hard and real the ground felt beneath her legs.

"Are you sure, Miss," began Dorothy uncertainly, "that you'll be all right if I leave you here? Won't be moment, I only want to go and use the telephone."

"I'll be fine," whispered Phryne. "There's nothing to fuss about. I'm…I'm perfectly all right. Honestly, I am."

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

Now, this may not all make perfect sense right at the moment, but that's okay. I promise that everything will be clear in due time; in a manner of one or two more chapters, actually.

Unfortunately, we have to leave poor Phryne here overnight, as again I have to get some sleep in preparation for going in to work tomorrow.

Now, I may actually NOT be able to update tomorrow; after work, I'm taking my mother to see a show in the city, and we may get home too late for a chapter.

If that happens, I sincerely apologize and I"ll do my best to make it up to you with extras on Thursday.


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

**Author's Note:** I wasn't meant to write today, but as it happens I found that Woke up every hour on the hour for some time having ridiculous nightmares about my high school days (which were ten years ago, so what on earth is that all about?)

Subsequently, we're going to get a chapter after all, although I am not going to have had much sleep.

Appropriately, our chapter begins with a nightmare.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Four**

Phryne went to bed early that night, and she dreamt of Murdoch Foyle.

This nightmare began by Janey's grave under the willow tree. Dorothy, Phryne, Mr. Butler and Aunt Prudence, Hugh and Cec were all there, waiting in somber silence while Bert stood in a hole up to his waist, grimly shoveling dirt out of the grave.

It was only after a few moments of that laden silence that Phryne realized that for some reason, Jack wasn't there.

Bert's shovel struck something hard, and when he leaned out and beckoned to her, Phryne peered into the grave. Hugh reached out to support her as she carefully kept her footing on the edge of the grave, and when Phryne glanced up at Hugh she realized that his eyes were red and puffy, as though he'd been crying. That didn't seem right at all.

Bert began prying away at the lid of what appeared to be a sort of coffin…but it wasn't Janey's coffin. It wasn't the box that they'd found her in, nor was it the lovely, hand-crafted wooden casket that Phryne had commissioned to re-bury her in after they'd discovered her at long last. Instead it was a long white marble box, covered with little gilded snakes. Every time Phryne blinked, she was sure she could see the snakes move and sway.

Those same familiar danger alarms began ringing in Phryne's head, but before she could protest, Bert had the lid off of the coffin, and Hugh made a strangled sort of sound as Phryne and everyone else saw that it wasn't Janey lying in the coffin at all.

Horribly, shockingly, it turned out to be Jack lying in that marble box, pale, cold, and lifeless, covered with the throw blanket from Phryne's drawing room sofa, his hands folded against his chest like some Egyptian god.

Phryne started to scream, but the sound just wouldn't come out of her throat. Bert looked sharply over at her, shovel in hand; only now, it wasn't Bert at all. It was Daniel Kelley staring up at her out of the grave, grinning his wolfish grin as he prepared to plunge the shovel straight through the chest of Jack's corpse.

Phryne turned to the others for help, but Dorothy, Hugh, Cec, Mr. Butler and Aunt Prudence were all gone. They'd been replaced as well, this time by solemnly nodding clones of Murdoch Foyle, and every single instance of him, too, was wearing vaguely Egyptian-style robes like some big-screen interpretation of an ancient king.

Daniel Kelley and every single Murdoch Foyle all turned to stare at Phryne in one movement, and although they didn't approach she could feel them pressing in on her, trapping her, cutting her off from Jack. Frantically, Phryne threw herself into the grave, and as she plummeted towards the coffin she saw with some surprise that Jack's corpse was now cradling that of her sister Janey, perhaps trying to protect Janey from the impact of Phryne's fall.

Before she could hit the ground in the dream, however, Phryne woke up abruptly in her own bedroom, sweat pooling on her face and neck and her heart beating insanely in her chest.

"Jack," she called weakly, but of course he wasn't there. There was no one there at all. She was mercifully, miserably all alone in her room with the only the spectres of Kelley, Janey, Foyle and Sadie for company.

Taking a deep breath to try and steady her nerves, Phryne got out of bed, strode over to the window, and tried to focus on watching the sun come up.

Somehow, even though he was, just as Dorothy had said, no doubt too far away to cause her any real physical harm, Phryne could feel Daniel having his revenge on her just the same.

* * *

"Oh, uh, looks like you have another letter, sir," remarked Hugh, passing a note from the mailbox across Jack's desk. "You do seem to be awfully popular, lately."

Jack glanced down at the embossed script on the back of the envelope.

"From Miss Fisher, no doubt," he murmured. "Perhaps she's planning to celebrate her recent escape from death with yet another gaudy night."

"I don't think so sir." Hugh frowned. "The invitation's not from Miss Fisher. See?"

He turned the envelope over and pointed at the return address.

"Miss Portia Munroe," he read. "The, uh, lady who runs the women's theater company, I think. She did sort of take a shine to you, so I guess we shouldn't be too surprised."

Abandoning the invitation, Jack dropped it back on the desk without opening it and turned his attention to that morning's investigation report.

"Well, Collins," he asked, sighing as he glanced half-heartedly down the page. "Any news yet?"

"I'm afraid not, sir," replied Hugh, retrieving the invitation and tearing it open himself. "There were three separate reports last night of Mr. Kelley appearing at a women's club in Ballarat, actually, but it turns out to have been a, uh, mistake."

He winced, and Jack raised an eyebrow at him.

"A…mistake?" Jack frowned. "What kind of mistake?"

Hugh blew out a short breath.

"Apparently,' muttered Hugh uncomfortably, "the gentleman mistakenly identified as Daniel Kelley was in fact an impersonator, sir; a man who, it seems, makes his living by traveling to women's private social events and impersonating famous actors…without their clothes on."

"Oh." Jack nodded. "A stripper."

"Yes sir," sighed Hugh. "In any case, the concerned citizens who reported the sighting were obviously confused by the act, and Mr. Kelley is still very much at large, as far as we know."

Jack shook his head in frustration.

"What I don't understand," he muttered, "is how a man like Kelley, who has one of the most famous faces in modern film could  _possibly_  remain missing for an entire week. Half the people who see him on the street must know him instantly. He's practically a household name. He should have turned up days ago. Where could he be hiding that literally no one has been able to recognize him? It just doesn't make sense!"

"New Zealand?" Hugh shrugged.

Jack let out an exasperated sigh and pushed the report into the trashcan.

"We're nowhere," he mumbled, deeply annoyed.

Hugh was now in the process of reading through Jack's discarded invitation.

"Huh," he murmured, more to himself than to Jack. "Looks like Miss Munroe's throwing a big party, and it's tomorrow night. What is it with all these emergency parties, lately? I can't really keep up. Oh, but I guess it might have something to do with her needing another actor to take over for Kelley. She, uh, doesn't have any Antony anymore, Dottie says. Suppose she's getting pretty desperate. Maybe that's what this is all about."

Jack, not even remotely interested, refrained from comment.

"Apparently it's another costume ball," Hugh went on, turning the letter over to read the back. "You're meant to dress up as your favorite screen actor. Oof, doesn't that seem a little…well, inappropriate, in light of recent events?"

"Highly inappropriate," agreed Jack. "I'm sure Miss Fisher will be delighted. No doubt she's invited as well."

Hugh frowned, then shot a quick, uncertain look at Jack and put the invitation back down on the table.

"Sir," he asked hesitantly, "have you actually seen Miss Fisher at all lately? In the past few days, I mean?"

Jack shook his head.

"No," he admitted. "We haven't had the time."

That, of course, was not precisely true. Jack himself had been to the Fisher residence several times since Kelley's disappearance, but each time Mr. Butler had assured Jack that Phryne was 'indisposed.' She hadn't bothered to return any of his calls, and Jack had been forced to come to the unhappy conclusion that, for whatever reason, Phryne simply didn't want to see him.

He was trying not to let it drive him mad. Luckily for Jack, the investigation into Daniel Kelley's disappearance was proving engrossing enough to distract him from Phryne's merciless cold-shouldering, at least while he was at the station.

The nights, however, were becoming increasingly lonely, and Jack was beginning to get desperate again.

"Of course, I know that you've been very busy lately," agreed Hugh carefully, "but you, uh, might want to stop by Miss Fisher's house this evening, if you have the time."

"I don't believe that I will have the time," retorted Jack quietly.

"It's just," continued Hugh, "that Dottie's a bit worried about Miss Fisher, actually. Seems she hasn't been herself lately. Dot says she's taken poorly."

Jack looked up sharply at Hugh. "What? What do you mean, 'taken poorly?'"

"I'm…not exactly sure," admitted Hugh. "She's sick, I suppose? Apparently she missed rehearsal yesterday. Dottie had to call Cec and Bert to get her home in the car, and you know how she hates to have anyone else drive her motorcar. I assume it must be pretty bad."

 _Yes,_ thought Jack, frowning.  _It certainly does sound that way. Apparently she really has been 'indisposed,' after all. I'm a selfish fool. It's not really that surprising, either. Phryne Fisher is a resilient woman, but she was nearly raped a week ago, and a traumatic experience like that would have a profound psychological effect on any normal human being. What's more, the man who assaulted her is still out there somewhere, and she knows it. I'm sure it's been very hard for her…and here I am, licking my wounds and whining to myself about how she can't be bothered to pay me any attention. Seems I don't deserve any after all._

"I'm going, Collins," he announced, getting to his feet and heading for the door. "Keep me posted on any new developments in the Kelley investigation, and I do mean any developments. If there are calls or reports of any kind, I want to know about them."

"O-of course," agreed Hugh. "Wait, you're going? Where-?"

"I'll give Mrs. Collins your regards," called Jack over his shoulder. Then he hurried out the station door, giving himself as little time as possible to remember that the middle of an important investigation was hardly the right time to get lovesick over a lady.

* * *

When Jack knocked on the door of the Fisher residence, Mr. Butler answered as usual.

"Ah, Inspector," said Mr. Butler, raising his eyebrows and frowning. "An unexpected surprise. Aren't you usually at the police station at this hour, in the middle of the afternoon?"

"Usually, yes," agreed Jack. "Just at the moment, however, I would like to see Miss Fisher. I understand that she hasn't been feeling well."

"I'm afraid she really hasn't," replied Mr. Butler, shaking his head sadly. "Unfortunately, Inspector Robinson, I don't believe that Miss Fisher will be able to see-!"

"It's all right, Mr. Butler," murmured Phryne, appearing on the stairwell behind Mr. Butler and giving Jack a faint echo of her usual welcoming smile. "I do think I'm up to seeing visitors today after all. Please…come in, Jack."

Mr. Butler hesitated just a fraction of a moment, then dutifully stepped aside to admit Jack.

"I've been trying to see you for days," said Jack.

"I know," Phryne assured him. "Would you like a drink?"

She led Jack into the drawing room, where for once there weren't any snacks or drinks set out for visitors.

"I'll just go get us a little something," she murmured, turning to face him again.

Jack was appalled to see how large the dark circles under her eyes had grown, and how little of the usual rosy color was left in her cheeks.

"Phryne," he said. "What is it? Are you all right?"

Waving that away with one dismissive hand, she apparently abandoned the idea of drinks and flopped down onto the sofa.

"I'm  _fine,_ " she assured him. "I suppose Dot must have sent you. She worries too much. It's only the aftereffects of a bit too much excitement, that's all."

Jack raised an eyebrow at her.

"You have never," he said accusingly, "suffered from too much excitement before. Not once in your life."

"There is a first time for everything," countered Phryne, hazarding the smallest of smiles.

Jack let out a short, exasperated breath.

"I don't believe it," he said. "You're in shock; and it's no surprise. You've been through more than any woman should be forced to handle. Even the indomitable Phryne Fisher is, albeit occasionally, only human."

Phryne shook her head impatiently at him.

"It's not that," she insisted. "It's got nothing to do with that. I've dealt with the unwanted amorous attentions of men before. This wasn't any more especially harrowing."

She leaned back against the sofa, gazing fixedly out the window, her fingers kneading themselves nervously into the fringe of the blanket over the armrest.

"All right" insisted Jack. "Then what is it really? What's wrong? Don't tell me it's nothing; I'm past believing you."

"Do you think," asked Phryne as though she hadn't even heard his question, "that he's really left the country?"

Jack frowned.

"Kelley? Yes, I think he has," he admitted. "Not only do we have a witness who claims she saw him get on a plane, but we know that it would be in his best interests to flee Australia."

"He'll be back,' murmured Phryne. "He'll come back to finish what he started. He's a thorough man, Jack, and a vindictive one. He won't rest until he's punished us for spoiling his fun, you can be sure of that. He won't be gone forever."

"He can't come back," countered Jack patiently. "He'd be caught the moment he set foot in the country again. There's hardly anyone, man or woman, who doesn't know Daniel Kelley's face. He doesn't stand a chance, Phryne."

"Then why," whispered Phryne, still not meeting Jack's eyes, "haven't you caught him yet?"

Unfortunately, Jack found that he couldn't answer that question.

"It's because he's resourceful," continued Phryne with almost feverish insistence. "He's cunning, and he's cruel, and he's charismatic. He's charming, too; the sort of man who could charm an innocent, starstruck bystander into doing just about anything. He's-!"

"He is not," interrupted Jack firmly, "Murdoch Foyle."

Phryne fell silent again, then took a quick breath and shook her head.

"You should heard the way Portia was talking about Daniel this morning," she insisted under her breath. "She couldn't stop lamenting the fact that he'd have been the perfect Antony; so charismatic, and with such a presence. He has that enthralling effect on people, Jack…just like Foyle did."

"Foyle," said Jack slowly, "is dead. He's been dead for years."

"But I can't stop thinking about him," whispered Phryne, clutching hard at the armrest and swallowing. "I know it's ridiculous, but it feels…this feels like Foyle all over again. A cunning escaped convict, hiding lord-knows-where, just waiting for a chance to strike…at me, probably, or perhaps-!"

"Phryne!" Taking Phryne firmly by both shoulders, Jack gently forced her around to meet his eyes. The fear he'd seen at the station was there to stay, now, and as he held her, he found she was trembling.

"He's not coming back," Jack assured her seriously. "He has no reason to come back…and no reason to come after you, or after-!"

"-you," finished Phryne softly. "Or Dot, or Janey-!"

"Jane, you mean," said Jack. "No…there's no reason for him to come after Jane, or any of us. It wouldn't make sense."

Taking another deep breath, Phryne nodded slowly and straightened up. Jack released her.

"I keep seeing it when I close my eyes," she told him, smiling horribly. "I can't get it out of my mind…Foyle, and Kelley, and Janey, and...and everything."

Jack sighed.

"I thought," he muttered, "that this was all over years ago. I thought you'd begun to forget, at last. I'm sorry."

"Perhaps it never will be over," murmured Phryne a bit more calmly at last. "Perhaps there are some demons that never really leave us. They only hide away…disappear and trick us into believing that they're gone until the time is right, to strike again."

Jack found that he could hardly bear to see her like this; the bold, beautiful, daring Miss Fisher, barely a shadow of her usual, dauntless self. He had an almost overpowering urge to reach out to her, to hold her, and yet somehow he was sure that right now she'd reject the contact, and that too much gentle sympathy might almost make matters worse.

"You're overwrought," he told her carefully. "You've been under an incredible amount of stress, lately. I shouldn't have come. You need to rest."

"I'm all right," insisted Phryne, but Jack cut her off before she could say much more.

"No you're not," he insisted, "but you will be. You always are."

Phryne awarded him a genuine little smile at that, and a little bit of the warmth crept back into his chest.

"Give yourself time," he told her. "You've earned it."

"I can't," laughed Phryne under her breath. "There's no time. I have to go to Portia's tomorrow."

"No you don't," countered Jack. "Skipping a single social engagement won't permanently de-rail the calendar. There will always be another party."

Phryne's smile broadened, but she only shook her head.

"The show," she assured him, "must go on."

* * *

 **Author's End Note:** Angst angst angst aaaaaaangst.

We're coming down to the final few chapters of the story. I'm getting a little nervous. I've had some bad experiences in the past with people getting violently angry at the way I choose to end stories and sending me alarming numbers of decidedly non-constructive private messages.

Please be gentle. Remember that I, too, am human, and that as a writer and an artist, my ego can only withstand so much flaming rage.

Thank you for understanding.

"


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

**Author's Note:** I'll have you know that first thing this morning, I sat in front of my computer for almost an hour just staring at the page with the gears turning, fighting off the onset of writer's block. Then I ran on the treadmill for an hour, watched an episode of Miss Fisher's, knocked a couple of things off of my to-do list and returned to my computer…to sit and stare at it for another few minutes in blank astonishment.

I feel that, in the interests of honesty and full disclosure, it is important that you know this.

And now, back to our story.

Let's see who won; me or the writer's block. I'm ready.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Five**

The next evening, as he'd really always known he would, Jack accepted the invitation to Portia Munroe's celebrity fashion costume ball.

He made a point, however, of not bothering to dress for the occasion.

He also arrived just a bit more than fashionably late, having lost track of time at his desk in the station, going over and over every concerned citizen's report, mistaken sighting or tidbit of information retrieved concerning the whereabouts of Daniel Kelley over the last few days. He'd been doing it all morning, and the repeat research lasted long into the late afternoon, but just as it had since the day of the disappearance, it got him nowhere at all. He ultimately found himself drowning in a dearth of any useful information or clues, and eventually, with nothing more to go on and no good news to report, he left for the party in his coffee-stained blue policeman's suit.

Portia's shindig was in full swing by the time Jack arrived. Sadie and Alfred Nguyen were, of course, both long gone from the Munroe residence, but Jack wasn't surprised to see the effervescent Mr. Butler floating around between rooms with a tray of wine glasses balanced on one hand. Unexpectedly, Martha White, dressed in a sensible suit that fit her much better than her usual fare, appeared to be assisting him, and every now and then Jack caught a glimpse of Dorothy Collins in the midst of the crowd, smiling and nodding pleasantly or politely encouraging conversation in a group of other guests.

 _I can only assume,_ thought Jack,  _that this must be Miss Fisher's doing, then. Even in the absence of the regular staff, the show, as she says, must go on._

He found Portia herself in the drawing room, standing in the center of a group of eager women who had all clustered around some newcomer; a slim young man in a suit that was too-clean and with his hair slicked back just a bit too carefully. The young man was hesitantly reciting a speech from the first act of Antony and Cleopatra.

"Fie, wrangling queen," squeaked the young man, clearly doing his best to exhibit gravitas, and only ending up sounding nasally and stilted.

 _An audition,_ thought Jack, nodding to himself.  _Apparently Miss Munroe really is trying to find a replacement for her absent star._

Clearing his throat and taking a short breath, the young man paused for a moment and then started over, the circle of women giving him a little, enthusiastic smatter of encouraging applause as he began again.

"Fie, wrangling queen," he said again, just a bit less obnoxiously this time. "whom everything becomes; to chide, to laugh, to weep; whose every passion fully strives to make itself in thee fair and admired! No messenger but thine, and all alone tonight we'll wander through the streets and note the qualities of people. Come, my queen; last night you did desire it. Speak not to us."

As he finished, again his audience applauded.

Unimpressed by the lackluster recitation, Jack turned around to leave, and then he saw her through the half-open door.

Phryne Fisher was there, standing on the stairwell all alone, dressed for the theme in a silver beaded evening gown with something small and black stitched into the bodice that flashed and twinkled as she crossed the landing. She wasn't trembling now, and as Jack watched her, Phryne turned to a passing gentleman and gave him one of her usual, uncomplicated, radiant smiles, every bit the image of the unsinkable lady detective, poised and perfect, as regal and elegant as ever.

 _Fie, wrangling queen,_ though Jack in admiration as he watched her,  _whom everything becomes._

He hesitated, but by now Phryne had noticed him and was coming over to meet him, smiling that same lovely, familiar, welcoming smile.

"Jack," she murmured. "You came."

"I came for you," Jack heard himself say, as behind him another man began monotonously reciting the same of Marc Antony's monologues for the benefit of the ladies in the drawing room. "That is…I wanted to see how you were holding up."

"I'm glad," said Phryne, glancing quickly over his shoulder at the auditioners in the drawing room. "Do you have a moment? There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

She turned on her heel and headed up the stairs again, and Jack found himself following her without really thinking about it, drawn to her as he always was, only vaguely aware of the fact that his heart's rhythm had sped up again.

"Phryne," he began, but Phryne shook her head at him, ushering him into a side room full of half-open closets, overflowing with sequins and spangles.

"This is Portia's dressing room," Phryne informed him casually. "Costume jewelry, all of it; but I thought we could use the room for our own devices, just for now. I have something of a…more private nature that I'd like to say to you. I'm afraid it's really a bit noisy downstairs. I won't keep you from the party long."

Jack, who really had no interest whatsoever in the rest of the party, swallowed and cleared his throat.

"Certainly," he managed. "I'm listening."

Phryne nodded.

"You've been very patient, Jack," she said quietly. "I think, though, that's it more than past time I gave you your answer."

Jack's heart didn't seem to be able to decide, now, if it wanted to sink or not. Inexplicably, his fingers began shaking, and he shoved his hands down deeper into the pockets of his jacket, forcing himself to look her in the eye.

"There's no need," he muttered, "to put yourself through that right now. After everything that's happened, lately, no doubt you've had your mind on other things, and this is hardly the time-!"

"No," she insisted firmly, shaking her head at him. "No, it's time, Jack. Right now. I'm done torturing you. You were right; no more games. It's not fair to either of us. You'll have to endure listening eventually, and there's no time like the present, I'm afraid."

Unsure of what exactly to say, Jack sank down onto the velvet couch that he mercifully found behind him. After a moment, Phryne joined him.

"All right" he said helplessly. "Then…I take it you've thought about my offer?"

"Very much," insisted Phryne, gazing contemplatively at a fancy chest of draws on the other side of the room, "But…we're not quite there, yet. This has to start in rather a strange place. Bear with me, Jack. I have to start by telling you that I invited Daniel over to my home that night because…well, because I wanted to. Because I wanted him to be there."

Jack winced.

"I know," he said. "I never doubted-!"

"At least," Phryne went on, apparently not listening to his interjections, "I thought I did. I thought that I was looking forward to having him take me in his arms and to having him show me some of that silver screen passion that we'd experienced together on those rainy London mornings all those months ago."

Shutting his eyes and drawing in a sharp breath, Jack started to get to his feet.

"You don't have to go on," he told her curtly as his mouth went dry. "I understand."

 _I've known it was coming for days,_ he reminded himself, although that didn't really do much to stem the deep, dull ache that had begun in his chest.  _I expected this. I can and will be quiet and calm about it. I brought this upon myself, and now I have to stomach it._

"No," insisted Phryne suddenly. "You don't understand, Jack. You really don't. Please, listen to me, all the way to the end. I need you to be brave for me…for both of us."

Slowly, Jack sat back down on the sofa. Phryne waited for a moment, then nodded once and went on.

"We were practicing our lines," she continued, "from the play…the scene where Cleopatra buckles on Antony's armor before the battle. You're familiar with it, I think."

"Yes," sighed Jack, feeling horribly like his head was on fire and very inappropriately like he wanted to make a bolt for the downstairs landing. "I believe I am."

"I was reciting my lines," continued Phryne, "and he was running through his, but…something didn't feel right," she insisted. "Something didn't sound right."

Suddenly, she turned to look him full in the face again, and smiled, and Jack's heart reacted, as it always did, to the smile.

"You see, Jack," she told him, "I'd gotten it into my head somehow that you were the only person who could play that part properly; the way it was meant to be played. I could hear every single one of his words in your voice, and when he leaned in to kiss me, I found that all I could do was feel annoyed and disappointed that it wasn't you holding me in your arms and murmuring those suggestive Shakespearean nothings. It didn't matter that Daniel was devastatingly attractive and safely unattached, to me or anyone else. It didn't matter that he had his arms around me or that he had that alluringly amorous look in his eyes. All that mattered, Jack, was that he wasn't you…and that's what happened. That's why I refused. I'd never meant to…but I found in the end that I had no choice. I couldn't have him. I wanted you."

She stopped, and for a long moment Jack felt frozen and slightly confused, like he wasn't certain he could believe what he'd just heard.

"Do you mean," he began seriously, "that you-!"

"That I've become rather silly about you, yes," agreed Phryne, smiling. "That I can't seem to stop thinking about you whenever the opportunity arises. I think I know what I'm supposed to call this experience. I'm sure it's a word I've heard before."

"Phryne," gasped Jack.

She kept stopping just barely short of saying what he so desperately needed to hear, but by now Jack knew what she was trying to tell him. Despite the way time seemed to have frozen and the horrible acrobatics that his heart and mind were both trying to do at the same time, Jack was belatedly aware that there was something expected of him at this juncture. He very carefully, very tenderly reached out to take Phryne in his arms, uncertain as though she might break if he touched her too quickly or too much.

"Wait," whispered Phryne. "Please, Jack, I'm not finished."

Suddenly, Jack realized that there was something just the slightest bit wrong about Phryne's smile. It had that strange, lingering sadness lurking in it again. Slowly, he released her and sat back on the sofa.

"Yes?" By this point, he really wasn't sure what to believe, and his head had begun to hurt while his whole body tingled uncomfortably like every single one of his nerves was on edge. "What else is there?"

"A lot of things," Phryne told him, shrugging helplessly. "It's about Janey…and about you, I suppose."

"About…Janey?" Jack frowned. 

"I know it doesn't seem to make sense," countered Phryne gently, "but I think it will. I think it can. I think maybe you're the only person who really can understand, Jack, because you were there when it all happened. You know what it felt like for me to lose Janey. You know how desperate I was to find the truth…to have my answers. You know what the real, raw, true Phryne Fisher looks like when she's…when she's scared, Jack. When I'm really, desperately scared. You were there for me, then, just like you're here for me now. "

Jack only nodded.

"Yes," he said simply. "I remember."

"I think I know why I've been dreaming lately of Murdoch Foyle," she told him quietly. "It's because Kelley's escape has dredged it all up again, because it reminds me of what it was like last time to be searching for an escaped murderous convict, but…that's not the only reason. Foyle took something from me, you see; he took my sister from me, someone I loved more than anyone else in the world. It was horrible…it was like I'd been murdered myself. Worse. It was like I kept being murdered, again and again, because every time I woke up, I had to feel the fact that Janey was still gone, and that she was gone forever. It was unbearable…and sometimes I wasn't sure if I could endure. And it went on…forever. Even now…I still remember, even at the strangest and happiest of times, I think of Janey."

Phryne was shivering again, now, and her had sit into thin, hard lines. Again, he had to suppress the almost overpowering urge to reach and try to comfort her, but he managed it.

"Kelley's escape has me thinking desperately of Foyle again, now," she whispered, "because again, now, I have something wonderful to lose. I have something that if it was taken from me, I might never recover…and I can't afford to have that something, Jack. I can't afford to feel that way; about you or anyone else. I never want to go back to that place. I never want to feel what that feels like ever again. It's selfish, I know; horribly, shockingly selfish, but I'm sorry. I won't go down that road again. I won't let it happen to me. I refuse."

Jack opened his mouth to respond, but found that there were no words prepared.

"You asked a few days ago what it is I'm truly afraid of," said Phryne. "That's it, then. That's what I'm too afraid to risk. I won't risk going back to that darkness…to the fact of feeling more alone that I've ever felt. I can't afford to love you, Jack. So you see…I'm afraid my answer is no."

For a long moment after that, Phryne and Jack sat in silence on the sofa, listening absently to the sounds of the party raging on below them.

"I've hurt you," said Phryne quietly. "I'm sorry."

"I…understand," whispered Jack, feeling mindless and cold, like everything around him had just…somehow stopped.

Phryne nodded.

"Thank you," she murmured, giving him another one of those sad little half-smiles. "I'd hoped you would."

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

Yes, well…I think I'm going to go out now…and maybe…not be on the computer for a while…

Uh.

Please remember to be merciful. That's all for now, folks.

Er, actually, one more thing. If you are one of the DC metro area people interested in having a meet up, please email me at ariellemoriarty at gmail dot com so that we can organize things. I've heard from a few of you already.

Okay, now I really am actually going to make myself scarce.


	27. Epilogue

**Author's Note:** I'll keep this brief because we have work to do, but today I went shopping to try and buy myself an appropriately 30s style costume for a party I'll be going to next week.

Suffice it to say, I am disappointed to inform you that I look absolutely NOTHING like Phryne Fisher. Shortly after posting this final chapter, I am going to go run on the treadmill until my legs fall off or I pass out or I am a good 70 pounds lighter. Whichever comes first.

But first...our final chapter.

* * *

**Epilogue**

In the end, the show did go on after all, although not entirely as planned. Unfortunately even Portia's frantic machinations and her best attempts at emergency recasting weren't enough to allow for the play to go forward as scheduled. The ladies of the VWTT were forced to postpone their production for an extra two weeks, to allow for their brand new Antony, a Mrs. Sarah Martin, to learn the script.

Mrs. Martin wasn't quite as quick a learner as Portia had hoped she would be, of course, but by the night of the show she was a solid credit to the company's almost nonexistent reputation. She wasn't grand, brusque and aggressive as Daniel Kelley had been, but there was something powerful and steadying in Sarah's soft-spoken delivery of the role that appealed to Phryne, and which reminded her in a pleasurably bittersweet sort of way of the way Jack might have performed Antony.

The theater, unfortunately, was no longer available on the night that they finally did want to perform the show, and so the performance itself ended up taking place in the garden behind Portia's residence, set amongst the trees and the only slightly irritating sounds of buzzing night insects, the faces of the actors lit by cups and cups of candlelight.

Phryne, of course, had performed to much larger houses in much more prestigious locations, but she found that she was inexplicably more excited than usual as this particular show began.

 _After all,_ she reminded herself,  _this is something of a special role for me. Someone who'd know once told me that I made a very convincing Cleopatra. I wouldn't want to disappoint him._

While the audience members sat on blankets in the grass and sipped at summer evening drinks provided, of course, by Mr. Butler and his assistants, Phryne, Annabelle, Martha, Sarah, Portia and Dorothy bared their souls before the crowd. Phryne found herself so engrossed in her own delivery and in the flow of the scenes that before she'd realized it, the magic was almost over. Sarah as Antony was already dead, and she'd half-limped off the stage minutes before, half-carried by Dorothy and Annabelle as Charmian and Dolabella. Now Dorothy, Annabelle, and Portia as Emperor Octavian were all onstage again, standing and watching in silence as Phryne as Cleopatra prepared herself to be carted off to Rome where Octavian, presumably, meant to lead her captive through the streets as a symbol of his might and conquest.

Turning out to face the crowd, Phryne thrilled a little inside, preparing to deliver the most powerful and perhaps the most memorable of her famous speeches.

It was then, as she was gazing out defiantly into the audience, that she saw Jack.

He was standing in the very back, apart and aloof from all the raptly attentive audience members seated in the grass.

When Phryne caught his eye, she watched the muscles in his face tense for just a moment before he nodded at her once. He never took his eyes off her face for a second, even as the scene began again.

"I dreamt I saw an Emperor Antony," murmured Phryne. "Oh…such another sleep that I might see but such another man."

"Madam, if it might please ye," began Annabelle behind Phryne, but Phryne wasn't bothering to listen for cues anymore. She kept her eyes on Jack's, and when she spoke, she spoke to him. In that moment, for her at least, they were the only two people in the garden who mattered at all.

"His face," she declared, "was as the heavens, and therein stuck a sun and moon which kept their course and lighted the little o, the Earth."

Jack's face twitched for a moment, as though he were almost thinking of smiling.

"Uh, most sovereign creature," demanded Annabelle. Cleopatra the queen of Egypt ignored her underling's protests and continued her daydream.

"His legs bestrid the ocean," Phryne insisted, "and his reared arm crested the world; his voice was propertied as all the tuned spheres, and that to friends."

As she spoke, Phryne found herself remembering the way that Jack had stood on her doorstep with panic, alcohol and far too much love on his eyes and in his voice that night only weeks ago, promising earnestly that if she'd wanted it, he'd give her the moon.

"But when he meant to quail and shake the orb," she breathed, "He was as rattling thunder."

She thought of the way Jack had held her so hard that it had hurt the night after Hugh had taken the unconscious Daniel Kelley away in the police car, and how bitter and angry Jack had been then that he'd somehow 'let her down.'"

 _It's never happened,_ she thought.  _You've never let me down, Jack...not even once._

Phryne suddenly found that her throat was going dry, and she swallowed quickly and took a breath, shutting her eyes for a moment and trying to regain the easy, regal composure of the greatest Egyptian queen.

When she opened her eyes to begin the monologue again, Jack was still watching her, now with his lips slightly parted as though there was something he wanted to say but couldn't quite.

She'd seen that look on his face so many times before. There were things, Phryne knew, that she'd still never allowed to him to say…and that she never could; promises he'd never be able to make.

"As for his bounty," she went on quickly, "there was no winter in't. An autumn twas that grew the more by reaping. His delights were dolphin-like; they showed his back above the element they lived in."

The audience had now gone completely silent; no one even murmured or leaned over to whisper a comment to his or her partner. Everyone's eyes were fixed on Phryne, and Phryne was fixed only on Jack.

"Think you there was" she whispered, not really to Annabelle's Dolabella at all, "or might be such a man as this I dreamed of?"

Annabelle spoke again, but Phryne didn't hear her.

Jack really was smiling now, a sad sort of approving smile, and as Phryne finally began turning back to face her fellow actors, she was sure she'd seen a mixture of something like pride and pain at the back of his eyes.

* * *

Not long after that, Cleopatra finally committed her extravagant death scene, and with Portia's final words the play was over.

After the actors had bowed to the tune of a great deal of well-meant applause by the few but enthusiastic audience members, they all stepped off of their makeshift "stage" to greet their adoring public.

"Miss Fisher," called Hugh, as Dorothy rushed eagerly into his arms. "Great show, Miss! You were brilliant!"

Phryne turned to smile absently at him, aware that Jack was already making himself scarce, preparing to sneak around the back of the residence and presumably out to his car.

"I, uh, confess that I didn't understand all of it," admitted Hugh. "Maybe I'd better read up on the Inspector's Shakespeare, then? Never thought it'd be much use getting into, but this…this was something else. It was, uh…it was nice."

"Thank you, Hugh," replied Phryne graciously. "You may have another chance to brush up your Shakespeare, as it happens. Portia's already asked Dot and I to participate in her next magnum opus, which I believe is supposed to be 'Romeo and Juliet.'"

"Oh, uh, yeah?" Hugh frowned thoughtfully at Dorothy, then nodded slowly. "Well, uh, if you want to, Dottie, then I guess, uh…I guess that sounds lovely. I'll, be sure to see it. Maybe I'll even bring the other boys from the station, not that they're much into this sort of theatrical thing, but-!"

"Dot," remarked Phryne, "is going to play our Juliet. It's a very impressive and desirable part…and a very romantic one. I can't wait to see what she does with the role."

"What?" Hugh's smile froze on his face, and he blinked at Phryne. "Uh, romantic…part? H-how's that, exactly?"

"Don't worry about it, Hugh," insisted Dorothy as Phryne left them behind to try and catch Jack before he slipped way. "It's a women's company, remember? Besides, I'm sure Miss Munroe would never suggest anything…untoward."

Phryne snorted a laugh under her breath. She never did manage to hear Hugh's answer.

Jack was disappearing around the corner of the house when Phryne did finally catch up to him.

"Jack," she cried. "Wait, just a minute!"

Stopping in his tracks, Jack turned slowly around to face her, and as Phryne met his eyes she found that for just a moment, she had to struggle to remember what she'd wanted to say.

 _Maybe there wasn't anything I particularly had to say,_ she thought ruefully.  _Maybe it was only that I wanted to say…anything, really, as long as I said it to him._

"You were magnificent," he told her simply. "A remarkably perfect Cleopatra….as I knew you would be."

He smiled slightly again, and Phryne forced herself to smile back.

"Thank you for coming," she told him quietly. "It means so very much to me…and to Dot, of course, and Portia, and-!"

"Always," said Jack quietly. "Whenever you need me. You only have to ask."

Again the conversation stalled, and Phryne realized miserably that there just couldn't possibly be any more to say.

"Goodnight, Miss Fisher," muttered Jack, turning around again to head for his car.

"Goodnight," Phryne whispered. "I'll…I'll give Dot your regards, of course."

"Of course," returned Jack.

Phryne stood still and watched for a moment until Jack disappeared from sight. Then she took a deep breath, spread the bright, welcoming smile back across her face where she knew it must have belonged and turned around again to go and greet the rest of the wonderful people who'd taken the time to come and to watch her perform in the incredible show that had somehow turned out to be both blessed and cursed in a number of unexpected ways.

"Miss," called Dorothy, waving enthusiastically at Phryne from in between a slightly bored-looking Bert and a bemused-looking Cec. "Miss Phryne, look who's here!"

"Coming, Dot!" Phryne waved back, then turned and glanced ever so briefly back over her shoulder in the direction that Jack had gone.

 _Tomorrow,_ Phryne reminded herself stoically,  _is another day._

It was only that now, with the end of the production, the game really had come to a close.

Whatever new adventures tomorrow would have to offer, somehow Phryne found herself doubting that anything could ever be as magical.

**THE END.**

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

Well, we knew that it couldn't last forever, and all good things (at least, I enjoyed writing it) must eventually come to an end.

Thank you so very much for reading! Your kindness and your encouragement absolutely made my experience the more brilliant by leaps and bounds. I hope that I was able to give you a little fun as well!

It's been an absolute pleasure.

* * *

No, I am absolutely just messing with you, obviously. Did I get anybody? Anybody? Come on, be honest with me. Anybody?

Obviously this isn't actually over. That wouldn't even make sense, there are way too many unfinished plot threads, still.

This is just the very first story in what I believe is going to be a trilogy, so we still have two more to go!

Now what I have to decide is, am I going to post an all-new story for the sequel, or should I continue writing the sequel in this same document, for the sake of easy access and easy reading?

Something to think about.

In the meantime, while we wait for the second segment in this saga to begin, I have a question for you:

**Talk to me about setting. What sort of exciting locations and unusual background events would you like to see in this ongoing story? This part featured a production of a Shakespeare play (I do love Shakespeare.) What shall we have next?**


End file.
